YST 20 - Tribute Collection
by Boggy
Summary: Written for the YST 20 Themefic Challenge, in celebration of twenty years of Yoroiden Samurai Troopers. Collection spans the entirety of the series (and beyond) and explores a wide range of themes and characters. Story ratings range from K to T (for use of the occasional swear), but are otherwise appropriate for all audiences.
1. Cherry Tree

Author's Notes: Here we are! My story collection for the "YST 20 Themefic Challenge," in celebration/honor of the 20th Anniversary of YST! I realize this compilation is a __bit__ overdue, considering we are now rapidly approaching the __30th__ Anniversary of YST...but seeing as the series hasn't changed and FFNet is SEVERELY lacking in good fic (of anything), I view this as a much-needed addition to the archives, as well as a one-two punch for BOTH anniversary celebrations (even if the original selection is some ten years too late).

My collection for the challenge is diverse, covering as broad/wide-reaching a selection of themes and characters as I could manage with only twenty prompts. Thus, everything from the original TV show to the OVAs to individual characters and post-series speculation is discussed, all in my personal styling that I hope distinguishes me from other YST 20 themeset collections here and around the Net. Though the stories are posted in numerical order, I wrote them COMPLETELY out of sequence (case in point, "Cherry Tree" was written fourth to last out of all twenty prompts...and it's #1 on the list). As a result, the prompts themselves don't follow a particular "timeline" of events, as they relate to the other prompts. One might focus on a happening from the show's original season, and the next may deal with an issue related to _Gaiden_. I typically state the "what and when" in each of the prompt's ANs, so as to give readers a point of reference for where in the series we are in a given fic. Reading and understanding all of what's written in this collection will require an above-average knowledgebase of the (CANONICAL) YST universe. Fair warning.

To kick things off, I decided to dedicate Prompt #1 not only to the YST series itself, but also the series fans. As a long-time admirer of the show, I've written my fair share of fic, as have others who've watched and adored the anime through the years. I've come to know some of these fans and authors, and we've forged fine friendships through discussion groups and social networking platforms. And while YST is and will always be YST, a part of what it is is based on what the fans make it. And no dedication to the story and characters would be complete without acknowledging the people who've supported it.

I came across a good friend of mine's fic in a LiveJournal community devoted to the recognition of the series oft ostracized OVAs. The story centered around the anime's final season, _Message_ , as well as the characters of Nasuti and Suzunagi. And as soon as I read it, I immediately disliked her for getting the idea for writing it first. xDDD I loved it, and as I was sorting through my remaining prompt selections for YST 20, I knew almost instantly what I wanted/needed to do.

This prompt, "Cherry Tree," is a reworking of my good friend Linda Marie's (user " **Alzbeta Batoriova** " here on FFNet) fanfic, "Nasutei's Message." It, along with all her other WONDERFUL YST-related works, can be found at her user profile which I HIGHLY recommend you visit, follow, and read. She's an incredibly talented author, and I'm honored to have been given permission to rework her story for my collection. If you've read "Nasutei's Message" before, than you know basically what to expect here. If you haven't, then I urge you to read LM's version first. Mine differs in some pretty noticeable ways, but the core of what the story was is maintained. I can only pray I do the original justice.

YST and I go back a long ways, across many fics and message boards and conversations on LJ, so this particular challenge was rather near and dear to my heart. I hope the care and attention to detail I've devoted to each theme reflects that, and adequately honors what is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest animes ever to reach North American shores.

Thank you, YST. For the memories and the fun. You were a brilliant part of my childhood. And whenever it is I leave this earth, I'll be proud to have left this little collection of love and devotion to you behind.

From one "Samurai Heart" to another. God bless.

7-second Japanese:

 _ _tsunokakushi__ \- wedding headpiece

 _ _onee-san__ \- sister

 _ _gaijin__ \- foreigner

 _ _onna-bugeisha__ \- female warrior of Japanese nobility

 _ _hanami__ \- festival for welcoming spring, most associated with viewing cherry trees (literally "flower view" or "blossom view")

 _ _Tokugawa__ \- last feudal military government of Japan (1603 - 1868)

3-second French:

 _ _croquembouche__ \- traditional French dessert consisting of pastry balls piled in a cone, typically served at weddings

3-second Christian:

 _"_ _ _laying on of hands"__ \- for blessing, for anointing (setting aside for a special purpose)

 _ _cross oneself__ \- ritual blessing of tracing the Holy Cross across the body, sometimes used in oath/swearing before God

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 ** **YST 20 Prompt 1:  
Cherry Tree****

"It's exciting to have finally set a date."

"Are you certain it suits?"

"I'd always hoped to be a 'December bride.'"

"I meant the wedding itself."

"Why would I object?"

After some seven years of fighting, flirting, dating unofficially, "Seiji drama," dating officially, and one rather anticlimactic wedding proposal— _"_ _ _Just marry me, already!"__ —Seiji and Nasuti had __finally__ agreed to "be together" and settle down. Most Japanese couples married in June, so in an effort to deviate from the norm—and spare their families the suffering of the summer heat—the happy couple had set a date for mid-December of that year.

It was early April, with the cherry blossoms in full bloom, so the "big day" was still several months away. It lent them plenty of time to plan, given that French weddings and Japanese weddings couldn't __be__ more different. There were a lot of details to sort through, and the issue of intercontinental travel. And neither wanted a wedding ceremony crammed between their shared June birthdays anyway.

Seiji's family was pushing for a "mostly" traditional wedding...except for Satsuki, whose fascination with the modern world clashed heavily with the more "customary" mindsets of the rest of the Dates. She'd wanted her new "onee-san" to wear a white gown with a veil, while Seiji's mother and grandmother fawned over wedding kimonos and their accompanying tsunokakushis. As a half-Asian herself, Nasuti was content to go the more "Japanese" approach, though she'd insisted on a croquembouche for their cake, and a dance under the umbrella, in honor of her French upbringing.

(She was personally evicting anyone who had the notion or audacity to perform a skit.)

Whatever suited Nasuti suited Seiji. He'd given little thought to the particulars of the wedding, knowing well enough that weddings were a largely "female affair." Which was not to imply that he was without say or opinion. Given that their marriage would be "mixed," he'd wanted the ceremony to reflect in kind. If Nasuti had wanted something "more French" than Japanese, he was ready and "armored up" to defend her...even against the intimidating fearlessness of the Date women. And that he'd felt so strongly on the matter had surprised him. Having seen the rigamarole involved with his own sister's wedding, Shin had advised Seiji to just "stay out of the way." But it wasn't Seiji's nature to step aside. The very notion of backing down annoyed him. He'd had his head stuck in the middle of the planning as much as anyone—more than Nasuti, in truth—ready and willing to fight, as necessary, on his fiancée's behalf.

Yayoi had smirked at the intensity of his involvement, teasing that he was "as bad as any of the women." But Seiji hadn't thought it strange to want to defend his bride-to-be, especially in a family as combatively cutthroat as the Dates. To that, Yayoi'd rolled her eyes, insisting that if Nasuti could contend with __him__ , she could more than acclimate to the likes of the family. He'd barked in protest to her claim, with Nasuti stifling giggles in the background as Satsuki, fascinated by all the unconventional hoopla, ran a bamboo brush through her soon-to-be sister-in-law's auburn hair.

But despite the __clear exaggeration__ of the difficulty of his person, Seiji couldn't deny that Nasuti's easy transition into his world was a huge relief. His mother and grandfather had balked a little, at the idea of their __precious son and grandson__ marrying a __half-breed__ from across the sea. They were pure-breds, the Dates, and Seiji knew something like "proposing to a Frenchwoman three years his senior" was a recipe for strife. Perhaps it was his own father's marrying into the family, or his seven-year pursuit of a woman bouncing between two continents. Perhaps it was his willful refusal to so much as blink in the direction of anyone else. Perhaps the Dates had "got a clue" and realized they weren't living under the Edo regime. Or hell, maybe his mother and grandparents had just grown soft.

Whatever the reason, the announcement of their engagement had raised only moderate fuss. Nasuti had been welcomed into the clan with relatively open arms—his grandfather was already embarrassingly praying for a male firstborn—with a section of the dojo being specially prepared as living quarters for the newlywed couple. Satsuki was ecstatic at the idea of a "gaijin sister," and Yayoi both impressed and surprised at Seiji's unconventional choice of bride. Nasuti's ambitious spirit seemed to have squashed any potential doubts of his mother's, and his father was, well...his father. Ever the compassionate voice of reason, he'd been the first to accept Nasuti into the home. He'd never been one to stand on ceremony anyway, and having himself taken the last name of his wife, was likely more sympathetic of the situation than anyone.

As a result, the planning thus far had been smooth. Though Nasuti was far from weak, she was agreeable and adaptable, more so than any of the bloodborne Dates, reminding Seiji a great deal of his dad. Never could Seiji recall "crossing swords" with his father. In truth, he'd envied the man's gentle and understanding nature, given his own naturally tempestuous temper. Nasuti wasn't __quite__ as acquiescent as "Papa Date"—the bickerings between she and Seiji a tried and true testament to __that__ —but she shared his pliability and patience, and his love for people and things that others might find... _ _trying__ to endure.

To his family's credit, the "bulldozing" had been kept to a minimum. Seiji might have even gone so far as to say his mother and grandfather "liked" Nasuti (the Japanese half of her, for certain). At the very least, they respected her. His grandfather nodded his approval when he'd learned of her interest and growing skill with the naginata. And he'd all but shouted when she'd demonstrated the fruits of her training in their school. " _ _My grandson chose an onna-bugeisha for his bride!__ " he'd praised. (The last name of Yagyu didn't hurt.) His sisters liked her for sure, and Seiji's father was happy so long as he was happy.

Yes, the planning had gone extremely well.

When it was all said and done, Nasuti's demands were small. " _ _The wedding is kind of pointless,__ " she'd insisted, " _ _in light of the rest of our lives.__ " It was more his family making a to-do, though he __was__ the only male heir, and the first of the Date children to officially "take the plunge." Yayoi seemed disinterested in dating, and Satsuki, despite being just two years younger than himself, was "too young," in his opinion, to entertain the idea of boys.

"I don't want you to feel...pressured."

Nasuti smiled. "I appreciate your willingness to 'go to bat.' But I think you're looking for a fight where this is none."

They walked forward in silence then, the pink of the cherry blossoms both a romantic and invigorating sight.

Seiji was the first to break it.

"I know them. I love them...but I know them. We're bushido, through and through. We can make a battlefield of anything."

She grasped the seriousness of his words, but could find no reservation for it in her heart. "It makes things kind of interesting, doesn't it?"

"You say that now."

Nasuti giggled, too drunk on happiness to be moved by his sullen concerns. She wrapped herself around his arm, her heels clicking against the walkway at the edges of the dojo estate. Rows of cherry blossoms lined the perimeter of the grounds, making for their own private, at-home hanami affair.

"The blossoms are so pretty." Nasuti held out a hand, catching a petal in her palm. "It's a shame the season is so short."

"They're quite striking," Seiji agreed, looking up. "More so than I've seen in recent years."

"A blessing, for our impending nuptials," Nasuti beamed.

But Seiji furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the sakura trees overhead. Studying his face, the reaction unnerved her; she recognized "the look." She'd seen it time and again through the years, and she clutched him a little tighter for it.

It was a look of alarm. It was an awareness of danger.

With his eyes to the skies, Nasuti turned to inspect the rear, only to find the path they had taken no longer there.

"Seiji—!" She tugged at his bicep.

He turned at her urging, gasping at the sight of the now non-existent walkway, and the dense row of sakura trees stretching endlessly from behind. He peered into the distance, searching for signs of his home between the branches of the trees, but saw only the swaying motions of cherry-covered limbs dancing in the breeze. Whirling himself around, the trail out ahead of them was more of the same—clusters of sakura trees standing attention against the backdrop of a deep lavender sky.

Nasuti looked down at the feeling of something __wet__ pooling at her feet.

"What the—!"

Where the fresh, green grass of spring once stood, was now a mirror of water stretching out across the limitless expanse of pink. She tested her footing in the crystal depth, grasping Seiji as a lifeline for fear of falling into a bottomless abyss. But the shallow waters did not give way. Their depth was little more than the outsole of her shoe.

Rendered speechless by the sight, Seiji placed a protective arm across Nasuti, uncertain of whether to position her in front or behind. The "ground" on which they stood was firm, and yet, there was something...immaterial about the place—a place he was certain was no longer "home"—that made him feel...light. The sky was dark, and yet something in the trees glowed. A low-hanging mist moved over the surface of the water, but the air was clear. It was impossible to gauge direction from their surroundings, so inundated by the heady atmosphere of fog and luminescence and the faint scent of sakura fruit assaulting them from all sides.

Petals fell from the trees like rain—an alluring sight, if not for the uncertainty of where and what and why they were there. Nasuti was wary of venturing forth, but Seiji's eyes seemed fixated on the "path" ahead. He pressed forward, his fingers snaking their way through her own as he stepped carefully, one foot than another, easing them both through the columns of cherry-colored blooms tickling the outer edges of their clothes.

Gingerly they moved, droplets of the cool liquid beneath splattering the cuff of Seiji's slacks and the bareness of Nasuti's calves. It was hard to discern how far or long they walked, so identical the "north" to the "south." But in a matter of what was presumed "minutes," they emerged from the labyrinthine garden into a small clearing. There, at the very center of the enclosure, stood a lone sakura tree, scant smaller than the rest, a cascade of blossoms like a sunburst littering its base.

"It's here…" Seiji whispered.

Nasuti's gaze darted from her fiancé to the tree. "...What?"

"The reason we were summoned."

"'Summoned?'"

A slight wind picked up, catching the petals of the tree and lifting them through the air. Behind the bark, a figure appeared, like a trick of the light. Its silhouette was indistinguishable at first, but as the blossoms gave way, shape and color took form. With what amounted to a burst of breath, there stood before them a refined woman. Her hair was dark and long, her skin that of a porcelain collector doll. The look and styling of her dress suggested she hailed from an earlier age, a large and elaborate headpiece fanning out over the top of her crown. Her kimono was red and white and flowing, and she looked for all the world like an actress stepped off the set of a Tokugawa-themed movie piece.

But perhaps her most striking feature was the sparkle green coloring of her eyes.

Seiji knew her instantly.

She had flashed before him once, back when he'd witnessed the troubled spirit Suzunagi's demise. But even if he had not, he would have known. The proof was staring straight at him. There was little physical resemblance between mother and child, but the one feature they shared was in the windswept shimmer of their eyes. And it was with that same shimmer that the ethereal entity gazed warmly upon him, her hands folded loosely at her lap.

Nasuti stood silent as Seiji's side, ignorant of the woman's identity. Though she knew of the Troopers' acquisition of new and more powerful yoroi, she possessed only a vague understanding of their strange encounter with what Seiji had curiously coined, "the Spirit Child." He had not elaborated on what exactly transpired, nor had any of his friends. It seemed each of their experiences had been too personal, too revealing to share.

That the figure did not attack, and that Seiji seemed familiar with it, relieved her. The absolute last thing Nasuti wanted was __another__ foe and __another__ fight. She was more than ready for an __indefinite__ period of peace. And she didn't think it unreasonable to say she'd earned it. And it went without saying the Troopers had as well.

The woman did not address them with words, but she gazed at Seiji as if communicating with something...more. Petty as it was, it miffed Nasuti to think of her fiancé as so attuned to another female, even if the woman was little more than light and smoke. She studied Seiji's expression probingly, her eyes bouncing back and forth between them.

As if somehow sensing her jealous thoughts, the woman turned to face Nasuti then, her countenance gentle and a reassuring smile upon her lips. Her gaze dropped slightly, taking note of Seiji and Nasuti's still-entwined hands. Her smile widened at the sight, and the insecurity Nasuti had felt evaporated like a mist.

The woman returned to Seiji then, her eyes falling to a small pile of sakura blossoms nestled at the base of the tree. Following her line of sight, he leaned forward ever-so-slightly, intrigued at what lie within. At her beckoning, Seiji walked towards the tree, Nasuti in tow. Nasuti marveled at the delicacy of the woman's fingers and wrist, wondering how it was that so much exquisite fragility could confine itself inside such a small frame. As they closed the distance between them, the woman's smile grew gentler, if possible, gesturing towards the mound of cherry blooms at her feet.

Seiji knelt down, his gaze bouncing up once as if to ask permission. But that same, gentle smile was her only response. With an unsure exhale of breath, Seiji brushed the blossoms aside, revealing a tiny, red-haired baby girl nestled beneath.

Nasuti gasped, water splashing as she stepped back in shock. But Seiji's reaction was more subdued. Recognizing her as the baby Suzunagi, he regarded her with a mixture of fondness and remorse. Of the Troopers, Seiji had been the first to sympathize with the vengeful spirit's plight. He'd understood her rage, her fear, and though he had not condoned her actions, he'd empathized with the hatred she'd felt for the armors and for her happy world that their existence had destroyed. Though he'd possessed not the words needed to "fix" her heart, his compassion had opened a door to dialog that, in the end, had set everything right.

To his knowledge, she had been reunited with her mother and left to heaven in the end, yet here she lay. A tiny baby she was, sound asleep in a cradle of blossoms. At the very center of her forehead rested a lone, pink petal. With improbable precision, Seiji raised two fingers to her brow and, with a delicate grasp, removed it. The baby Suzunagi scrunched her nose at his touch, and moved with an unnamed emotion, he felt strangely compelled to embrace the child. Only when the woman, Suzunagi's mother, motioned to the babe with a nod and signaling for Seiji to take the girl did he act.

Feeling for her form, still partially buried in blooms, Seiji lifted the baby Suzunagi from her "crib," cradling her against himself with care. Nasuti's mouth dropped a foot, as the mother raised both hands to her chest in delight. Then, stepping forward, she beckoned both Seiji and Nasuti near. Placing a hand on either shoulder—her right on Seiji's, her left on Nasuti's—the feel of her fingers was as weightless as the wind. Her eyes danced between them, then raising her head to the heavens, she placed either hand at the top of their heads. Finally, she took Nasuti's hand and guided it to rest on top of Seiji's, still cushioning the babe. Facing one another, the child Suzunagi between them, they exchanged smiles, the sakura trees swaying gently all around.

The couple transfixed with one another, Suzunagi's mother crossed herself once, folding her hands together in prayer. Then, encircling the trio once more with her arms, she leaned in to look lovingly upon her daughter reborn.

 _"_ _ _Live in the abundance of the light..."__

And in the twinkling of an eye, the spring grass returned. The deep lavender of the sky was gone, replaced with the dull warmth of the April Sendai sun. The walkway leading to Seiji's house and the rooftops of the dojo were visible once more. And there, standing at the lining of cherry trees at the edges of the Date estate, were Seiji, Nasuti, and the baby Suzunagi.

And the blossoms bore witness to new life.


	2. Armor

Author's Notes: I'll admit, when I first saw the word "Armor," I immediately thought of the Trooper armors Suiko, Korin, Rekka, and so on. And when I thought of how to apply that to a fic prompt, I came up empty. Then I looked at ALL the YST 20 prompts, and noticed several of the fic themes revolve (understandably) around the Yoroi, combat, the Edo period, etc. And as I looked at those themes I thought, "What a great opportunity to shake things up!"

I didn't go quite the traditional "armor" route. Rather than the suits of armor worn by the Troopers and enemy Masho, I decided to write "armor" from the perspective of guardedness (i.e. emotional armor), because again, there's only so much one can say about the Yoroi themselves (that hasn't already been covered to an exhaustive degree within the series itself). Flashes of the "emotional armor" used are scattered throughout the piece.

The idea comes (in part) from an old (a VERY old) conversation between me and fellow LiveJournal buddies **moon_doggy** and **firestar9mm**. I can't link the conversation here (it's under friend lock, as well as being more than ten years old), but in short, we were discussing the kind of music each Trooper might like based on his personality in the show. We didn't come to too many conclusions (though both **moon_doggy** and I agreed to a near-canonical degree of ferocity that Seiji was NOT a fan of Death Metal), but it did stay etched in my memory as material I could maybe someday use in a future fic.

This story doesn't focus much at all on the music likes/dislikes of the individual Troopers (again, the focus is on the emotional armor/coping mechanisms of the cast), but it did get me thinking—Bamboo Flute is listed as one of Seiji's personal interests/hobbies. Meaning, Seiji must be musical on some level (even though I've read the Bamboo Flute isn't terribly hard to play). Music is most often used as a means of personal expression, perfect for a guy like Seiji, whose entire character (and by extension, virtue) is based around the idea of "stern, societal control."

P.S. Story takes place post Season One.

P.P.S. The "fourth watch" of the night is between the hours of 3 and 6 AM.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 2:  
Armor**

"Would you cut that racket OFF?!"

Nasuti's head fell not-so-elegantly to the table as Shin's roar echoed throughout the house.

Today marked the fourth week of their "unique" living arrangement following the aftermath of the battle with Arago and the Youjakai. It'd been an interesting transition from sleeping on the streets and in abandoned warehouses to a fully furnished, air-conditioned mansion with electricity and a working toilet. To the boys' credit, they'd paired off in rooms and settled in surprisingly well, keeping arguments and broken knick-knacks to a minimum. But after four weeks of niceties and the strain and stress of everything they'd been through kicking in, some of the boys' "claws" were beginning to show.

She'd chalked most of their initial "house etiquette" up to fatigue. The boys were visibly wiped—Ryo especially—from the ordeal, each snoozing here and there between meals and workouts. It was so much so that she'd grown accustomed to their individual sleeping habits. Shuu and Touma snored. Shin slept with his mouth open. Ryo's "sleep face" was unassuming and soft, while Seiji's was guarded and poised.

The boys' behaviors were mirror images of their "conscious" and "unconscious" states. Shuu was extroverted and loud. Touma wasn't perturbed by his inconveniencing others. Shin could be fearlessly—and surprisingly—expressive. Ryo was the bright-eyed, ever optimistic mediator of the house (after herself, of course). Seiji had never left the battlefield; he'd simply traded in his yoroi for slacks.

Nasuti had no brothers, no boyfriend, and no male friends, and the overload of testosterone left her spinning. She loved them, of course, and was happy to have found people to share space with in her otherwise eerily isolated life. Even so, there were days when she'd wondered what the hell she'd gotten into, and why on earth she'd given five hot-headed young boys use of her late grandfather's estate.

Today was shaping up to be one of those days.

Touma, the most uncooperative of the house, had a penchant for Hard Rock. It wasn't so surprising, given Touma's withdrawn nature, that he find solace in such a loud and expressive musical style. It was almost like Touma's weird little way of letting the rest of them know, "I'm still here." Nasuti herself had no qualms with Hard Rock. (And it was unlikely the other boys cared one way or the other.) Playing whatever musical style suited her houseguest was fine. ...Except Touma didn't _play_ Rock. He _blared_ it.

He had consideration enough to play it in his room alone. An out-of-character gesture she might have appreciated more, if not for the screeching singer, epic guitar solo, and overblown bass blasting its way through the rest of the house. In essence, the bedroom door was equivalent to a Kleenex defending against a nuclear missile. And that didn't even take into account he had the stereo volume cranked to eleven.

"TOUMA! Are you DEAF?"

"What the HELL is going on in this HOUSE?"

"I can't even hear myself THINK!"

"TOUMA! Are you DEAD in there or WHAT?"

"THAT'S IT! I'M COMING UP!"

Nasuti pulled herself from the chair and walked to the kitchen door, mentally preparing herself for the brawl that was no doubt waiting for her on the second floor. As she made her way to the stairs, she noticed Ryo bolt up the steps ahead of her, making a beeline for Touma's bedroom door.

God bless him. Nasuti could always count on Ryo to help keep the peace.

Seconds later, both Shuu and Shin zipped through the upper hall. Seconds after that, the roaring began. It was impossible to make out anything but incoherent shouting—the music muffled most of the commotion—but it didn't take an IQ of 300 to know nothing short of "Shinjuku Apocalypse: Part II" was about to unfold. She only hoped the house weathered the war better than the streets of downtown.

Sighing, Nasuti placed a hand on the rail, making a move to join Ryo on the front. But for some reason, her feet just wouldn't go. The thought of traipsing upstairs and wedging herself between two and three hormone-frenzied, teenage boys drained her of every ounce of energy she had left. And so, instead of diving headfirst into the assault, she did a face-heel turn and walked out.

She felt guilty abandoning Ryo, but she'd had high hopes for an uneventful weekend. While her role in the war had been largely one of transportation and support, she too felt the aftereffects of their hard-earned victory. She'd rummaged through debris and danky sewage right along side the guys—hungry, grungy, and with a young child in tow, no less. And while she'd made no mention of it since, the loss of her grandfather stung. In retrospect, it was a small thing, considering what they'd had potential to lose. But there was no fooling herself in the fourth watch of the night, when all the hurts of life came flooding back and nothing to comfort her but silence and the memory of her grandfather's smile.

Her hopes for a peaceful Saturday shattered, Nasuti shuffled her way out the back door. Collapsed up ahead of her was the ever-watchful Byakuen, stretched out across the compound's freshly manicured lawn. Maintenance of the estate wasn't cheap, but the soothing aesthetic of hydrangeas, peonies and primly kempt shrubbery was well worth the cost. She bent down to scratch Byakuen's tummy as she passed, meandering out past the outer hedge lining into the more wooded area beyond the mansion's inner court.

The trees were gorgeous that time of year, lush and thick and with the kind of sun-simmered green that radiated an exquisite and undeniably supernatural perfection. She stopped just short the wall of trees, taking in a deep and contented breath. And as the smell of wood and earth filled the air, her ears caught the far-drifting sound of something melodic and sweet swirling beyond the green.

It was a grand departure from the bellowing of Touma's Rock, its thunderous roar muted but still discernable even from the far eastern edge of the estate. The simplistic beauty of the sound pulled her, from the certainty of the open yard into the mystery of the veiled wood. As rooted as her feet had been before, was how free and purposeful they were at the discovery of whatever lay waiting at the source of such a siren's song.

Nasuti pushed her way through the foliage and aerial roots, brushing a low-hanging branch from her face. Determinedly, she stepped into the sun-kissed clearing and stared.

There, seated Indian-style on a massive stone, was the bearer of Korin.

She _had_ wondered where he went. Seiji was undeniably the "easiest" of the house—easy in the sense he had the most refined mannerisms and awareness of social norms. True to his virtue, Seiji carried himself with grace, poise, and all the delicacies that society expected of a well-bred, Bushido elite. His elegance far exceeded the other boys', who for the most part acted like what most might consider "regular boys." It gave him a sort of "elevated maturity" she admired, but a detachment that made him difficult to approach.

He was undoubtedly the most guarded of the house, even prior to the war. It was as if all his mannerisms had been carefully constructed in such a way that no fault could be found in him. His conversations were light and impersonal. His speech was articulate and refined. His behavior was accommodating, but proper. Seiji's whole existence was formal, flawless, and all with an undertone of waspishness that kept Nasuti, the boys, and the entirety of the world it seemed at arm's length.

All the Troopers had quirks, insecurities, perspectives of the world that had lended to their abilities as bearers of the ancient Yoroi. But Seiji's was unique in that his perspectives and abilities seemed almost..forced. He was clearly a gifted swordsman and a soldier born to arms, but something in his grit teeth and downcast glare went completely and totally crosswise with what his Yoroi was made to represent. Nasuti often wondered who and what Seiji was when he wasn't clad in armor—literally or otherwise—and if he too knew true honesty only in the darkest watch of the night.

Entranced, both by the sound he made and the mysterious thoughts and sympathies he stirred, Nasuti stood firm, her eyes fixed to the back of Seiji's gravity-defying blond hair. It was wrong to stare, unannounced as she was, but the melancholy of the music stayed her feet. The melody he played was poignant and soft. It was difficult to tell, staring into his backside, but the profile of the instrument suggested a flute of some kind, possibly bamboo. Her head fell to the side a little, the sound speaking of more honesty than she thought the bearer of Korin capable of possessing.

And then, without warning, the music stopped.

Flicking his head, Seiji whirled around to face the unwelcome presence, his senses on high alert. All at once, his eyes locked with her own, their narrow ferocity cold and accusing. Nasuti felt both fear and a tingling thrill surge through her spine, the nerves in her body electrified as her mind tried synchronizing with her arms and legs in an effort to retreat. This was a breach of privacy she knew, and while she'd since considered herself and Seiji "friends," she wasn't sure she qualified as enough of a "friend" to be "here." But after a moment passed, a spark of recognition in Seiji's eyes warmed his gaze, his expression softening at the realization of his "guest." He said nothing, his flute clutched possessively against his chest. His eyes bore into her own with emotion she did not recognize.

She shuddered.

With not a word spoken, he brought the instrument back to his lips, righted his posture, and began again. Only this time, the melancholy had faded into something lighter, something brighter, something that in her right mind might have resembled...peace.

And as the melody filled the air, revelation came. Nasuti had been wrong.

Truth wasn't to be found in darkness, but in the light.


	3. Tear

Author's Notes: The ultimate goal of YST 20 is to "hit the highlights." I want all (or most) elements of the series represented, from individual characters to series themes to even the oft ignored *gasp* OVAs. And as I was filing through the remaining prompts (I feel compelled to remind you; I did NOT write the themefics in numerical order), I realized I was missing one crucial subject matter for YST—SeijixNasuti! Now yes, I've made reference to/quickly brushed over their relationship in other prompts, but I haven't really devoted a singular themefic to JUST SeijixNasuti (Prompt 8 is really too short to count). I'm rectifying that NOW.

I'd originally intended this for Prompt 13. Seiji would do something dumb, and then perform "damage control" to salvage the mess. But I had other ideas for "Damage," so I went this route instead. It's still Seiji being, well... _Seiji_. But I thought I'd try my hands at an "actual" problem between the two, as opposed to the comedic "tiffs" I typically write.

Recurring readers of mine will probably recognize the "jealous Seiji" portrayal, a la "Dashboard Jealousy" (which is, in retrospect, horrifically written). In my head, these inclinations worsen as Seiji ages, due to the emotional trauma of dealing with torture, fighting, captivity, war, and all the other Trooper shenanigans he encounters throughout YST (on top of Seiji being just naturally kinda ass-ish). He and Nasuti are a smidge older in this one, with Nasuti in the twenty-three zone (putting Seiji at about twenty).

"Tear" here is used in the context of something "ripped" or "torn apart." Very important.

7-second French:

 _oh cher_ = oh dear

 _parfait_ = perfect

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 3:  
Tear**

The earliest incident had occurred in her very own home.

A professor from the university had called and left a message on her machine. He was an older man, in his mid-twenties at the time, well-educated and unattached, and in an ordinary world seemingly a wonderful catch. She knew him through her grandfather only; they'd had no interaction beyond passing pleasantries in the hall.

The summer holiday had just begun, and he'd phoned in the hopes they could "grab lunch" before her return trip to France. Beyond wrangling the Trooper "boys," she'd had no experience with men, but sensed his interest. He'd eyeballed her more than once, but kept his distance...up until he learned of her grandfather's passing. And from there he'd been the first to approach her and express his personal condolences for her loss.

He'd been a nice enough man—and still was—but a part of her wondered if his lack of initiative prior to her grandfather's death hadn't been her grandfather's influence to start. He'd carried on cordial enough with the man, but seemed purposeful in shooing her away whenever the young professor appeared. It was something she could have easily chalked up to age, her being only seventeen at the time, but the peculiarity of her grandfather's behavior gave her the impression it was something more.

The guys had rolled in the same weekend he called, wanting to hang out and catch up during their summer breaks. The house was all shouts and laughter and Nasuti welcomed the life that their visit had breathed into the lonely estate. Rooms were divvied up per the norm, and already she could see rolls of socks being cannonballed from bedrooms out into the upstairs hall.

The peace had lasted all of an hour when the phone rang. She'd missed the initial call, but Seiji, of _all_ people, had been in earshot, the young professor's mature voice blasting through the speakers of the machine. The message itself was innocent enough, but the implied undertone of the invitation spoke to more than a casual meal between peers.

The young professor was asking her to a date.

It was some time later before the information trickled her way, and at that point, Seiji was nowhere to be found. Word of the "invitation" had spread like wildfire through the house, and judging by the look of her friends, they were less than thrilled. Her relationship with Seiji had teetered between "friendly" and "flirty" for...as long as she'd known him. It wasn't something she could reasonably explain. There'd simply always been that connection between them. And yes, it'd elicited a fair share of snorts and sniggers from the guys. But they'd never shown to have any objections to Seiji's subtle pursuits, or her equally subtle reciprocations.

A dinner invite from a stranger, it seemed, crossed the line.

The severity of their reaction surprised her. She would have thought they'd tease her a little, at the very least. Instead, they shot one another mixed glances. Shin looked annoyed, Ryo worried, and Shuu downright disapproving. Touma maintained composure better than his comrades, though his eyes roamed elsewhere, as if mentally willing himself to disappear.

The absence of her blond swordsman was troubling. She hadn't even bothered to mask the question with indifference; she'd simply asked outright where he'd went. According to Shuu, Seiji had "paced the floor" a good half hour, glaring daggers into the phone line. He'd apparently had propriety enough not to erase the message, but instead, grabbed a jacket and her tabletop keys—being underage was bad enough, but at the very least he could have _asked_ —and drove off.

Some hours later he'd returned, tires squealing as he zipped Seiji-style into the rear garage. He'd made his way to the door with a huff, halting at the sight of her lithe form seated on the swingset of the back porch. They'd stared one another down, sizing one another up, but said nothing. Eventually, Nasuti had held out her palm, wordlessly demanding keys. Without so much as a blink, he'd dropped them into her waiting hand, the intensity of his gaze sending tingles down her spine. Collecting herself, she'd marched inside, making a beeline for the downstairs phone. And with every eye in the house not-so-discreetly zeroed in on her back, she'd smashed the "delete" button on the machine and walked off.

The incident was never spoken of again.

The second "episode" took place in the Shinjuku shopping district, just outside the local arcade. They'd gone into town, her and the boys, for some food and games. Shuu had challenged Ryo to some Kung Fu fighter, with Shin as referee. Touma was on standby, waiting to "decimate," in his words, the winner. Seiji had maneuvered himself to her side, holding an arm out in offering as they strolled away from the blinks and blips of the arcade and out into the flow of the couple-infested streets.

She'd held his arm like a lifeline, happy but nervous due to the mass of girls glaring enviously at her from all sides. To Seiji's credit, he'd ignored them all—or outright didn't notice—his attention fixated solely on her. They'd wandered that way for an hour, making one last stop inside a fashion boutique before meeting back up with the boys.

"I wonder who won?" She'd inquired delicately.

Seiji'd offered in response his trademark tut. "If the arcade's in shambles, it'll be safe to assume Shuu lost."

The seriousness of his tone made her giggle.

He'd turned to face her then, his mouth twisted upward in a half-smirk. Seiji wasn't exactly what you would call "playful;" he was by far the most mindful of their crew with regards to societal norms and expectations. But he possessed a rogue streak of unpredictability that made him, in certain settings, appallingly bold. In that moment, he was more nerve-wracking than the legions of surrounding girls looking to competitively claw out her eyes.

She'd often wondered what might have become of that moment, but she never got the chance to find out.

" _Yagyu-san?_ "

There, in an outrageously stupid twist of fate, right outside the Shinjuku arcade, stood the University's young professor.

In the man's defense, he'd had no prior knowledge of Seiji, nor the concept of the unspoken drama his phone call had inadvertently caused. As far as he and any of the staff at Shinjuku University were aware, Nasuti lived alone, had no known relations or affiliations outside her parents in France, and was by all outward appearances a bonafide shut-in. To see her clasped around the arm of a blond-haired bombshell three years her junior in the midst of the afternoon downtown rush was, frankly, unexpected. The look on the man's face said as much.

She'd chanced a sideways glance at Seiji, hoping to gauge his response. At first, he'd seemed expressionless in his acknowledgement of the man. Months had passed since the infamous phone call. Life had resumed as if it had never occurred. Surely the memory of the purposefully buried "message" had officially gone "the way of the Dodo" in everyone's minds. But thirty seconds into the conversation, it became clear that Seiji recognized the voice. His eyes narrowed into a predatory gaze, his hair, she was almost certain, sticking even further and wilder in the air than before.

With split-second decision making skill, she'd brought their interlude to a close, excusing the both of them as she hastily pushed Seiji further on down the street. Ducking into a soba noodle shop, she'd scanned from behind the window for any sign of the professor or his colleagues from work. With the coast clear, she'd turned to face her companion, grimacing at the sight of his obviously upfronted face. Whether upset with her, the older man, or their graceless retreat, she couldn't tell. But it hadn't surprised her when he'd pointedly ignored her the rest of the ride home.

Then of course, there was her most recent and explosive bout of "Seiji drama," once again involving their impeccably-timed friend, "Mr. College Professor."

Seiji had driven up from Sendai the evening before and stayed the night—in his old bedroom, of course—in order to drive Nasuti into work the following day. Her beloved jeep was long overdue brakes and an oil change, but she needed a spare set of wheels for dropping-off and picking-up. Seiji, now _legally_ old enough to drive, had generously offered to take the jeep in, leaving her free to handle her affairs at school. He'd see to it the repairs and maintenance were set, then pick her back up that afternoon for a late lunch.

She'd been looking forward to his arrival all week. They'd only recently "officiated" their couplehood, thanks to Seiji's "formally" introducing her to the rest of the Dates. Even though they'd been an "unofficial" item for years, the finality of meeting his family was exhilarating. She'd caught herself, more times than she was readily willing to admit, smiling at everything and nothing at the thought of him whizzing into the University's circular parking out front. Every few minutes, she'd poke her head out the third-story windows, excitedly searching for a red jeep and her swordsman's honey-blond hair.

Apparently, even the staff had taken notice of Nasuti's uncharacteristic glee. Her female co-workers probed in their "predictably female" way, and even the men had shot her distracted attempts at conversation a smirk. Rumors swirled at the sight of her absent-minded daydreams. And frankly, she couldn't have cared less.

It was her fiftieth glance outside when the sophisticated professor walked in.

"He's late."

Nasuti'd whirled around at the voice, recognizing it as _not_ Seiji's, but blissfully hopeful all the same.

"I'm being obvious."

"It's not your normal behavior," he'd consented, his words kind. "But it suits you."

She'd bowed her head in gratitude.

An awkward silence hung in the air, the second hand ticking away on the antiquated, overhead clock.

"Is it him?"

"Hmm?"

"The guy from the arcade."

...Shoot. She'd hoped he hadn't remembered that. Weren't all guys supposed to have bad recall?

"Seiji doesn't like the arcade."

"Or college professors." His tone was teasing.

At that, she'd laughed, taken aback by his playful banter.

Awkwardness dissolved, she'd taken a moment to study his face. The look in his eyes was warm, and it was the first time in the six years she'd known him that she'd considered him even remotely "cute." But she hadn't had time to process the revelation. Standing behind him, in the doorway of the room was Seiji, in all his angular perfection, eyes ablaze and features laden with disgust.

He couldn't have looked more ready for battle than if he'd whipped out a sword wearing the Korin Yoroi.

Things had sort of spiraled downhill from there. The professor had tried introducing himself, but Seiji'd offered little more than a snort and a scowl. Concerned, Nasuti'd seen fit to usher herself and Seiji out the room. They'd made it all the way outside and to the front of the car, when she felt strong fingers grasp her by the arm. She'd yelped at the sudden jolt and Seiji, on high alert, whipped around, his right fist balled and ready to swing.

"Don't you dare!" The words were out of her mouth on instant reflex.

Seiji'd stilled at her words, but his eyes bordered on murderous at the sight of the professor's right hand encased around her bicep. And it might have given him reason to act, if Nasuti's satchel—the one left forgotten on her work desk in her rush to separate the two men—wasn't hanging profferedly from his free hand.

Nasuti had apologized with a bow and a pleading look and, accepting the bag, shuffled herself into the car. In retrospect, it might have been better for _her_ to drive, but she'd been too angry in the moment to consider rational thought.

A half hour later, she was sitting cross-legged at the kitchen bar, her bag and other belongings flung to the floor. She kept bouncing between screaming her head off and punching his face. But neither seemed very constructive, and if she was honest with herself, she was more disappointed at the soiling of their happy weekend than the flare-up of his irrational jealousy.

Though she wasn't too thrilled with that either.

Seiji's possessiveness was nothing new. He'd had a jealous streak since she'd known him, but in his younger days had manifested in huffs, an upward turn of the nose, or a two-hour sulk. Never had he actually thrown a fist. It had nothing to do with trust, she knew. Seiji never asked her whereabouts, questioned her friendships, or gave any indication at all that he thought of her as anything less than virtuous and true. But the presence of another male set him off like a rocket. It was ridiculous...but a part of her understood.

The last few years had been rough. A group of kids, charged with saving the world, suffering the physical and emotional pains of war, enduring torture, watching comrades die—it wasn't what you would call a "typical growing environment" for a fourteen-year-old boy. Each of the Troopers handled the aftermath of the calling in their own way. Seiji, more so than any of the others, seemed linked to the battlefield. It hadn't been easy "hanging up" the sword.

In some ways, he'd struggled more than the rest. Whereas Ryo, Shin, Touma, and Shuu often fought in groups or pairs, Seiji was frequently left to battle alone. During the skirmishes with the Masho, he'd been pitted against Anubis with little aid, and with the added burden of caring for herself and Jun. A car wreck at sixteen had nearly killed him, he'd been captured and tortured more than twice, his armor had been responsible for the deaths of countless in New York, and his combative skill and Bushido-reared upbringing had fashioned him into a veritable fighting ace. And that didn't even take into account the weight of inheriting the dojo and continuing his family's name.

There'd been a lot of ups and downs through the years and Nasuti, for her part, was an uncomplicated reprieve. She was connected to the ordeals he'd faced, but in a way that provided comfort and relief. His complex emotional responses did not repulse her—though they were aggravating, at times—and that easy acceptance gave him breathing room to recover.

She wasn't afraid of Seiji or his petulance. Nor did she mind the possessive tendencies of his temperament. But slugging every guy that dared speak to her? Look at her? _Breathe_ in her general direction? That posed a problem.

Lost in musing as she was, she hadn't noticed Seiji pull up a stool and seat himself opposite her at the bar. His features were noticeably troubled. It seemed remorse had settled in with the clearing of heads.

"Your car's all set. I can walk myself out, if you'd rather I go."

He spoke in earnest, but avoided her eyes. He'd leave if she so wished...but his body language suggested she'd rather he didn't.

"Stay," she said simply.

Seiji exhaled at the word.

There was no laying the night or herself to rest until they talked. It was a conversation she was almost too tired to tackle, but the events of the day demanded it.

And there was no sense in beating around the bush.

"You were out of line."

To his credit, Seiji didn't argue.

"The nature of my job necessitates my interacting with humans, many of which are _male_."

He looked a little miffed at the emphasis, but didn't start.

"I get that you feel," she paused, searching for the right adjective, " _protective_ of me. But the professor, my co-workers...they're not a threat. You have to stop looking for opponents where there are none. I'm not working with undercover agents for the Youjakai."

"Funny," he said dryly.

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"You're a skilled _warrior_ , Seiji." She locked eyes with him, her voice and expression stern. "You versus a civilian is no contest. I can't have you armoring up in the middle of downtown because someone elbows my arm!"

"That was hardly an _elbow_ ," indignance evident in his tone.

"It wasn't exactly assault."

"If you think he isn't interested—"

"But I'm _not_ ," she interrupted.

"You laughed."

The odd remark stopped her cold. "...Say what?"

"You _laughed_." Seiji folded his arms and looked away. "I heard you."

 _What in the world?_

They'd somehow gone from fist-fighting to laughter in the most bizarre segue ever. She was officially confused.

A prolonged pause followed.

Seiji took her puzzlement as a sign to explain. "I checked in at the main office. I made my way to the third floor and saw that _professor_ ," the common noun was laced with venom, "in the doorway of your room. I didn't hear what was said, but whatever it was, you _laughed_."

Nasuti ran through his words in her head, but failed to see the connective thread. "You're upset because I laughed?"

"I'm upset because you laughed at _him_!"

She could feel a headache forming.

"So, you were planning to _deck him_ for making me _laugh_?"

"I was planning to 'deck him,'" the slang terminology sounded strange coming from Seiji's silken voice, "because you never laugh at _me_."

" _Huh?_ "

A deep sigh escaped his throat as he shrugged his jacket, laying it defeatedly against the adjacent chair. He folded his hands, his shoulders slumping as he leaned close. "Be honest, Nasuti. When was the last time _I_ made you laugh?"

It was a strange question, to be sure. To her, it came—seemingly—out of nowhere, but judging from the seriousness in his face, it was something he'd been mulling over for some time. In truth, Nasuti had never given Seiji's "funniness," or lack thereof, a second thought. There was nothing "comical" about Seiji. He just wasn't a "funny" guy. He never had been. Frankly put, she _couldn't_ remember the last time he'd made her laugh. But it'd never detracted from his appeal. It'd never taken away from the affection and deep-seated admiration she held for him.

To her, it was simply part of who he was. To Seiji, it was a cataloged fault. It didn't excuse his behavior, but it did shed light on why he acted the way he did.

The anger she'd felt all but melted away.

" _Oh cher_ ," Nasuti's French slipping in distress.

Seiji responded with a dejected smile. "I suppose that sums it up."

"Eh?"

Realizing her reaction was misread, Nasuti straightened her shoulders and chin, raising herself to her full height.

"Is that your idea of love? You equate humor with happiness?"

"'Sternness' isn't a quality in high demand."

"So you think me unhappy?"

"I think you're comfortable."

An arm slid its way across the tabletop, his hand snaking its way between the fingers of her own. The words that followed were forced, as if admitting something foul.

"You've known me since I was a boy. You've watched me grow. And time and time again we've been thrust together." He smiled wryly then, pausing to brush a finger across her thumb. "You'll forgive my dramatics for calling it 'fate.'"

"Seiji…"

But he didn't stop. "I'm no longer a boy...though my behavior sometimes speaks otherwise." He paused again, exhaling with fatigue. "I don't want you to feel...trapped. I don't want you to feel obligated. Especially surrounded with so many options."

"Options!" she shrieked.

"Come Nasuti," he countered with a pointed look. "I'm not blind. I may not like it, but I care enough for you to admit when I'm outclassed."

At those words, she balked. "Excuse me?"

"The two of you, standing together, innocent as it was..." He untangled himself from her grasp. "He's older, he shares your work. ...You look good together." Again he sighed, frustrated. "I wish more than anything I could be more for you. Different. Better. But here we are, not twenty-four hours into my visit and you're already muttering in French."

True enough, her native tongue was usually the first indicator she was upset.

"There's history between us, Nasuti. And yes, chemistry as well. But I can't help but wonder if it's enough. If understanding and familiarity can sustain dealing with," he waved a hand theatrically over and across himself, "this."

He brought his arms back to the counter.

"I care for you," he repeated. "But I'm...difficult. Petulant. Complicated. _Jealous_." He scrunched his nose. "And I'll never make you laugh. I'll never have that freeness about myself the way other men can. I _loathe_ the idea of you belonging to someone else. But I couldn't live with the knowledge that you sacrificed happiness belonging to me."

And with that, Seiji stilled. He'd said his piece. And with a pointed look, he reclaimed his coat, shoved his arms through the sleeve holes and stared. He was about to push his seat back and leave when Nasuti spoke.

"Are you finished?"

He shot her a quizzical look. "Hmm?"

"This parading about of your inadequacies. Are you finished?"

Silence.

"You know," she continued after several seconds, holding her posture strong, "I was over the moon today." She smiled, recalling her earlier glee. "All I could think of was you, your visit...us. I kept thinking how 'official' things were. How accepting your family seemed. How pretty the dojo must look in the spring." She smiled again, teeth showing. "About all the little 'Seiji idiosyncrasies' I have a lifetime to learn."

The word "lifetime" seemed to pique Seiji's ears.

"The staff gave me nothing but grief." She blushed a little at the admission. "I was so obvious."

The bearer of Korin didn't look quite as ready to leave as before.

"You are complicated, Seiji. And petulant. And difficult. And yes, fueled by testosterone-driven envy." She hopped off the stool, closing the rift between them to meet him on the opposing side. "Not to mention dreadfully _un_ funny."

That got a chuckle.

"And I'll probably spend a good third of our life together spouting some wonky mixture of Japanese and French."

He outright laughed at that one.

"But," she laid her head to rest on his chest, "all the 'rightness' in the world with someone else, could never replace the happiness I feel in all my 'wrongness' with you."

And as he raised his arms to wrap around her, the ugliness of the day dissolved. Seiji made a promise to apologize to the professor, and though they never made it to that late afternoon lunch, the dinner on the swingset of the back porch was, as the French say, _parfait_.

Seiji felt not a twinge of jealousy the remainder of the trip.


	4. It Is Distressing

Author's Notes: This themefic differs from the majority of YST 20 in that it's lighter in tone, compared to most of my other prompts. Though there is often an element of humor to my fics, the very nature of YST lends to darker subject matter, as is reflected in my writing. This fic is purely "for the lulz," and is probably in my top three of what I've written thus far.

The timeframe for this piece is post Tenkuden (evidenced by the reference to Touma's mother), putting the Troopers in their mid-teens. I have body statistics for the beginning and end of the series thanks to YST Encyclopedia, but not for the "in-between," so I've taken liberties with the heights and weights of the guys, as they grow/mature/age throughout the show. Touma ends up as tallest of the Troopers by Message, so I play with that here, to emphasize the fluctuations in the boys' builds.

P.S. I have no idea if such a place as "Osaka High" exists. Touma is from Osaku Fu, so for convenience I used the city namesake for Touma's school.

P.P.S. For some reason, I can't seem to write Seiji and Byakuen on good terms. There is nothing canonical to support this.

7-second Japanese:

 _Oi_ = rude, informal "hey!"

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST Prompt 4:  
It Is Distressing**

With a gingerly touch, Byakuen wrapped his feline teeth around the bronzed knob. He backed up slowly, pulling at the elegant hardware first out, then down, mindful of the African blackwood frame. Tugging at the odd angle that he was, the drawer compartment caught on the wood. With a firm yank, he forced the drawer shelf out, the drawer and all its contents spilling out and onto the stained floor.

Byakuen lept back with a whine, nuzzling the rectangular box carefully to ensure the expensive piece of furniture was intact. Seeing that all was in one piece—and for the most part, unscratched—he pawed through shirts, socks, and miscellaneous items of interest, careful not to tear through fabric with his razor-sharp claws. Finally, at the very bottom of the pile, was the fruit of his search.

Gumming the pale blue tie, Byakuen trotted his way back into his "owner's" room. There, gathered around him, were two of his brothers-in-arms. Ryo, unofficial "leader" of the Trooper team and "keeper" of the mythical white beast, stood centerfold with a dress shirt in either hand. To his right was Shuu, the soldier of Kongo, a light yellow shirt draped over one shoulder and a pair of dark slacks over the other. To the right was Shin, the bearer of Suiko, a look of exasperation across his face as he tried scrubbing caked mud off of their "leader's" one and only pair of nice shoes.

"This is ridiculous! Who goes tromping around in mud wearing Oxfords?"

"I had to take out the trash!"

"In your dress shoes!?"

"They were right there by the door!"

"You don't keep dress shoes by the door!"

It was a well known fact that Sanada Ryo had the fashion sense of a frog, the entirety of his wardrobe consisting of jeans, sweatshirts, and mismatched socks. The only set of clothes he owned that actually "fit together" was his soccer uniform...which at present was covered in a half-inch layer of grass and dried blood.

It was a good thing the Rekka Yoroi essentially "outfitted" itself.

Observing what little progress had been made, Byakuen slid himself into the midst of the "ordeal," nudging his "master's" leg. He righted himself like a cat as the procured tie dangled comically between the molars of his jaw.

"Thanks, Byakuen."

Ryo stroked the ears of his friend as Shuu inspected the tie, holding it up against the pale yellow of the button-down top.

"I drug this out of Touma's bag, but I'm not sure it'll fit." Shuu tugged questioningly at the sleeves of the borrowed shirt. "He's grown a couple inches." A pause followed as he eyeballed the waistline of the likewise-borrowed slacks. "And he's a glutton."

"There's no point in asking Seiji," Shin declared, furiously scrubbing at the heel of Ryo's shoe. "He's too tall."

"Even if he wasn't," Shuu paused mid-sentence to snort, "it would never fit. He has that girly waist."

"I am perfectly proportioned, thank you very much," Seiji insisted, appearing magically to defend himself. He stood propped against the doorframe of the room, looking for all the world like a model out of a magazine.

Nasuti, never far behind, angled herself around Seiji and into the room. She held in hand a pair of socks, black and freshly pressed.

"These were my grandfather's," Nasuti's voice more irked than sentimental due to the chaotic nature of the circumstance. "But they should fit."

"I don't understand why I can't wear any old thing," Ryo whined. "It's Touma's acceptance ceremony, not mine."

Some months prior, Touma had participated in his high school's mid-year science fair, and to the surprise of no one, took first place. He progressed all the way to nationals, competing against Japan's best. Touma's project—something to do with archery and the speed of an arrow—won, securing him the not-so-coveted title of, in Shuu's words, "Most Esteemed Nerd" of Osaka High.

None of them knew this, of course, until two days prior. Touma being Touma, hadn't bothered to inform...anyone. And it was only when Touma's mother—notified by the school board—called Nasuti in a fit of typical air-headedness asking if she would accompany him to the event did the word spread. From there, the remaining four agreed to head out and support their friend.

The award ceremony was being held in Tokyo, so the Troopers had agreed to meet up at Nasuti's house beforehand and ride together. There was no squeezing all six of them into Nasuti's jeep, so she'd arranged for a rental (slapping Seiji's arm when he suggested _he_ drive). Jun had been invited as well, but politely declined at the mention of the word "science." It seemed his only "scientific interest" was in watching things "blow up." An award ceremony did not apply.

"This is a formal occasion, Ryo." Nasuti's voice was stern. "I don't think an hour in dress slacks will kill you."

"I don't know," Seiji countered. "In that ensemble, it just might."

"Huh?" Ryo held up the yellow shirt, blue tie, and dark pants. "What's wrong with it?"

"What _isn't_ wrong with it?" Seiji narrowed his eyes, eyeballing the selections with contempt. "For starters, the color scheme is grotesque."

"Blue and yellow go great together!" Shuu insisted with a stomp of his foot.

"Not _that_ blue and yellow. Put them together and all the eye sees is putrid green."

"And here I thought green was your signature color," Shuu smirked.

"Joke all you want, but that outfit is gross." He paused to shoot a pointed glance at his hazel-haired friend. "...Isn't that right, Shin?"

Shuu's eyebrows raised an inch, his features contorted in shock. "Shin, is that true?"

Shin sighed, letting a pitiful-looking shoe plop to the floor. "It's pretty hideous."

Of the boys, only Seiji and Shin had any real sense of fashion. Their pressed slacks and matching jackets with perfectly accented shirts and ties left their comrades choking in their stylish dust. Nasuti insisted it was their estrogen-induced upbringing that had lent to their unusual affinity for clothes. Both Seiji and Shin had grown up in homes surrounded by women. And there was simply no spending a lifetime with women and not learning a thing or two about how to look and dress well.

"Either way, it doesn't really matter." Shuu folded his arms with a pout. "It's all we've got."

Shin sighed again, picking up the discarded shoe. "Sad to say, this is the best we have to work with. _Fearless leader_ here," he shot an annoyed look at Ryo, "brought nothing but a pullover hoodie and a pair of grime-encrusted Oxfords."

"The shirt and slacks we swiped from Touma's case," Nasuti admitted, sounding equally defeated. "The ceremony's in an hour and we've no time to shop. Ryo will just have to make do."

The attention turned then to their "leader," the motley assortment of dress scraps hanging lifeless at his side. Resigned to his fate, the bearer of Rekka slipped into the sad button-down, bits of string hanging off the collar, and the sleeves falling a good three inches past his wrist.

"Well, _that's_ attractive."

Shuu would have liked to refute Seiji's snide remark, but even he and his limited understanding of style could not ignore that the shirt, in all its disheveled "oversizedness," was hilariously _bad_. It didn't bode well for the rest of the ensemble.

Seiji placed a hand at his hip, his angular features scrunched in disgust. "I'll find my own seat at the ceremony, thank you."

And with that, he turned and glided out.

Shuu's gaze traced the invisible trail of regality following the bearer of Korin out and down the hall.

"Do you ever hate Seiji?"

There was an immediate and resounding "yes" from three people in the room—one of them Nasuti. Byakuen laid his head to the ground with a grunt.

In the momentary silence, the clock second hand ticked ominously overhead...

"We don't have time for this." Nasuti refocused with a fingertip to her temple. "Just grab some scissors, cut the strings, and roll the sleeves back. Put on your pants and comb your hair." She averted her eyes as Ryo undid his jeans. "If we don't leave in fifteen minutes, it won't matter what _any_ of us are wearing."

" _Oi!_ "

The human members of the group jumped. They whipped around, searching for the source of the sudden outburst. They found it in the form of Touma, standing in the doorway clad in nothing but his underwear and a white, button-down top.

"So _you've_ got it!"

Shuu stared at Touma like a deer in headlights. "Huh?"

"Not you, _you_." Touma's finger pointed straight at Ryo. "I knew I'd packed slacks, but I couldn't find them. Why the hell are you wearing my pants?"

"Uh…"

"Ryo didn't bring a change of clothes for the ceremony," Nasuti, the quickest to recover, explained. "We borrowed a pair from your bag. We didn't think you'd mind."

"Well I _do_." Touma waved a hand back and forth over his lower half. "That's the only pair of bottoms I've got."

"Huh?" Ryo shrieked, staring at the slacks he'd hastily slipped into. "But what am I supposed to wear?"

"You? I'm the one who has to walk out on stage!"

"They're really too long for you anyway, Ryo."

"You guys are the ones who insisted I wear them!"

"If you had any sense, you would have come more prepared."

"It's not as if we're attending a royal ball!"

"That's just an excuse."

" _Give me my pants!_ "

"Boys, boys!" Nasuti chided, shielding her line of sight from Touma's exposed underclothes. "We have to leave in nine minutes. Whatever you have on is what you're wearing and that's that. Ryo...give Touma back his pants."

"Fine by me." Ryo unzipped, letting the loose fabric fall to the floor.

Standing in the midst of two half-naked young men, Nasuti threw her hands in the air with a sigh.

"Now what?"

Seven minutes later, the group of six exited the estate, primped and prettied and piled into the rental van. Seiji took the passenger seat up front, eyeballing the keys. In the driver's seat was Nasuti, keeping a peripheral watch on the lead-footed blond. Touma slunk into the back, annoyed. Shin took the middle seat beside Shuu, who tugged fitfully at his uncomfortable tie. Ryo hopped into the one remaining spot next to Touma, sporting the yellow shirt and a pair of jeans with two rips up the side and holes over either knee—the same pair he'd rolled in with at the beginning of the trip.

Back at the house, Byakuen yawned contentedly on the living room couch, grateful that tigers came pre-packaged with fur.


	5. People We'd Like to Protect

Author's Note: Originally, I'd chosen "Rain" as the theme for this piece, but after LJ buddy ****subaru_san**** kindly retranslated the prompts, "Rain" sort of disappeared from the list and I was forced to re-title the piece. This is actually the second incarnation of this story. The first I was really unhappy with. And the longer I spent trying to fix it, the more I realized it was an unsalvageable mess. This I'm pretty happy with (it fits the prompt better, I think), although I'm still open to any and all (constructive) criticisms. (Okay, Team Ronin! Whip out those red pens! xD)

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 ** **YST 20 Prompt 5**** :  
 ** **People We'd Like to Protect****

It wasn't often Date-san had the house to herself.

Her father, the "living rules" of the family, had left for the weekend—and taken her mother with him—to visit some relatives up north. Her youngest, Satsuki, was sleeping at a friend's house. The eldest, Yayoi, had left for the library to study. And her husband, steadfast protector of the people, was covering for a friend at work.

Only her son, Seiji, had managed to sneak away undetected. She was fairly certain he was out back, wandering through the woods just outside the family dojo. She'd noticed his favorite sword missing from the weapon's rack. Nine out of ten said he was practicing kendo.

She tapped her finger anxiously against the kitchen counter. Date-san was not a patient woman, had never been one to keep waiting—even young. It had been her sophomore year in high school when Seiji's father transferred to Sendai from a neighboring province. They'd met during lunch, where she had upfront and unabashedly demanded he be her escort to the fall festival. It had been a bit, __untoward__ for the times, but Date-san knew from the moment she saw him, that he would belong to her and her alone. They'd married young, and taken her father's last name of "Date," instead of her husband's. Her father hadn't wholly approved, but Date-san had dismissed his objections and thankfully, her husband, albeit gentle, had been courageous—or perhaps, tolerant—enough to stand beside her and fight.

Date-san smiled at the memory, at her gentle, but deceptively strong-willed husband, whose insistence they be married and whose patient, understanding nature were the greatest blessing and stability she could ever know.

…But damn it all, why was everyone so __late__? The sky outside was growing dark, the treetops swaying from the force of the wind. Her husband should have been home ten minutes ago. And Seiji knew better than to wander through the forest in a thunderstorm. Date-san wasn't one to pamper or fret, but the weather had turned ominous, and she didn't like the idea of her family left to the mercy of the elements.

She paced alongside the kitchen table. Where __were__ they? Her husband knew to call if he was late. And Seiji was usually very perceptive of storms—it was a running gag in the family that he was their own personal weatherman.

What about Yayoi? Surely she had sense enough to stay inside. She would never leave the library in these conditions; the proprietor wouldn't allow it. He'd make an announcement over the PA system and request that everyone remain indoors until the weather cleared. Satsuki was safe and sound, she knew…though perhaps she could call and ask her friend's parents if they had electricity? Maybe the storms had already torn through that area of town?

Why the hell was her husband so late? He __knew__ better than to keep her waiting like __this__. He was in for an earful when he came home.

…If he came at home all.

Date-san sighed. My word, she was overworked. Her husband was fine, her children were fine—everyone was fine except her, pacing back and forth through the kitchen like a madwoman.

She recited to herself over and over, "They're fine; nothing's wrong." It became her own personal mantra, until she'd worked herself into such a frenzy that all she could do was tap her nails against the kitchen window.

Tea. That's what she needed. A cup of tea to calm her nerves. Her father had always said, there were only two proven cures for stress. One was meditation. (There was no chance of that happening.) The other was tea. By the time the rain started pouring off the windowpanes, tea was almost more than Date-san could manage.

She was three seconds from calling the station when she heard the front doors slam. The noise gave her a start, knocking her mother's prized tea cup to the floor. She paid it no mind and hurried to the front, stopping at the threshold at the sight of her husband and eldest daughter, Yayoi, hanging their coats at the door.

He shook the water from his dark locks, helping Yayoi steady herself as she discarded her shoes on the mat. He caught sight of his wife and smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face.

"I'm glad to see the house is still standing. It's terrible outside!" He knelt to the ground to help his daughter gather her books. "I thought I'd pick up Yayoi on my way home from work."

Date-san watched as Yayoi thanked her father and scurried off. He smiled after her, before walking forward to brush a chaste kiss against his wife's cheek. She smiled in return, fidgeting with her hands—something she __never__ did—and wondering if she looked as flustered as she felt.

He noticed her strained expression and peered into the kitchen, eyeing the broken tea cup with concern.

"And…what have you been up to all day?"

She breathed a contented sigh. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all." Her worries seemed to wash away at the sound of his soft voice…until it occurred to her Seiji was still somewhere outside, traipsing around in the dark.

Her temper flared.

"Did you know that __your__ son," she emphasized with a point, "is out __wandering__ through the woods without so much as a raincoat, not even bothering to tell his own mother…"

The slamming of the back door cut Date-san's tirade short. The couple turned to see a mass of blond hair peeking in through the shouji doors, a kendo stick propped against the inside wall.

"Seiji!"

Seiji lifted his head at the sound of his mother's voice, his pale eyes locking place with her darker ones. Beside her, his father was a figure of peace, gentle and unfazed, his smile soft. Date-san gave her son a disapproving look, and opened her mouth to speak when the telephone rang in the background.

"Mother?" Yayoi called from the hall. "Satsuki's on the phone."

Silence, and a small chuckle was her lone reply.

Seiji and Yayoi exchanged looks while their father found a rag to mop up the spilled tea.

Date-san was never alone for long.


	6. Because You're Here

Author's Notes: Okay. This is a weird prompt. I originally wrote this as an entry for "Shinjuku" (and I honestly struggled with what to rename this as), but I kind of lost focus and veered into a tangent of Nasuti coming to terms with her grandfather's death (the opening paragraphs were intended to lead into Nasuti driving into Shinjuku with Seiji to shop, but it never happened). Which I realize has been beaten _to_ death in fic, so I can only hope my approach is unique enough that it doesn't read like the same old, tired thing.

And yes, I open with verses from the Bible, because I felt the italicized scriptures were messages of hope and held relevance to the theme of the fic. So, hopefully this isn't a complete flop.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 6:  
Because You're Here**

 _"The Lord gave Job twice as much as he had owned before." (Job 42:10)_

 _"The Lord blessed the last part of Job's life even more than the first part. Job had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand teams of oxen, and a thousand female donkeys." (Job 42:12)_

Nasuti was used to two trips to the grocery store a week.

When she'd lived with her grandfather, she'd been responsible for buying food, toiletries, office supplies—anything not connected to her grandfather's PC. She'd visited her grandfather off and on since she was nine, but had made plans to stay in Japan until she completed her "internship" at the university. And for as long as she could remember, Nasuti had always been charged with keeping the house and her grandfather "stocked."

When her grandfather died—when she'd had time to really "process" his death—one of the first things she'd thought of, silly as it seemed, was shopping. How she'd need only one trip to the grocery store a week, only one or two bags of chips (instead of three or four), a few rolls less of toilet paper, only enough of anything to feed one…herself.

What she had _not_ anticipated was that the loss of her "one" was the acquisition of "five," and suddenly her two trips to one had become one trip to three or four. And that as sad as she had been at the loss of her "one," the "five" (and sometimes "six," depending on the day) had made her happier and become so much more than all those two trips to the grocery store had ever been. And while nothing could replace the "one" she lost, the "five" and "six" and however many numbers it might be helped to heal a tremendous hole in her heart.

In fact, shopping had become almost a full-time job, what with multiple teenage boys and their very teenage stomachs living under one roof. Some stomachs were more demanding than others, but as a general rule, someone somewhere in the house was hungry or out of something on an almost constant basis. And as frustrating as it seemed that she never had enough, it was the "not having enough" that carried the days, the sadness, the reminder that the "five" she bought for did not include the "one" she lost…and could never find.

The "five" called to her now, one hungry, one angry with another, one needing something washed, and one hoping to hog all her attention and affection for themselves…and she sighed.

"One" was lost, "five" were found.


	7. Armament

Author's Notes: *sigh* Another difficult themefic prompt. (They really could have used less "generic" terms for this YST 20 challenge.) But for all my struggles, I'm actually SUPER pleased with how this one turned out...especially considering the focus is _Arago_ , of all things. I'd always planned on incorporating a character study/short fic using Arago, but couldn't find a prompt where he really "fit." However, THIS idea came to me just last week, and frankly, I'm embarrassed it took me as long as it did to produce it.

YST, like most animes of the 80s, is pretty vague with regards to time gaps. Stuff just sort of...happens, with no real explanation as to why or what the events were to precede (or in some cases, follow) it. We know Kaosu defeated Arago during his first attempt to invade/conquer Earth. 1,000 years pass, Arago reappears, and the TV series begins. But that got me thinking. Just what WAS Arago doing in that unexplored, thousand-year stretch? Obviously he recruited the Mashou, brainwashed Lady Kayura, and just generally acted an ass. But being a demon lord (and an immortal, I presume), the concept of "time" would be less of a hindrance than it would be for say, you know, a human being. He would sort of exist "outside time," in a manner of speaking, so I don't wager he's as put out by the wait as you might expect of someone whose lifespan is dictated/controlled by the restrictions of light-distance (or just distance, if you prefer).

There's also the issue of Arago's personality, which even younger always struck me as a tad...flippant. Clearly, the guy doesn't TRY to lose (or even like it), but I always got the impression he wasn't terribly...perturbed. Like, he knew it was just a matter of time before the world was his (either through his own ingenious plotting or some failure/mistake on the part of the good guys). That if his present plan failed, he still had one more card/trick up his sleeve to fight another day. He had this...confident optimism, in a really sick and sadistic sort of way. (Which could be the effect of his giant, smiling head floating through the air, I realize.) I don't know if/how that comes across to you the reader, but I hope how I portray him in this fic articulates my interpretation better than the AN.

In any case, this fic deals with Arago's thoughts/readying his troops some years prior to the second invasion of Earth. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 7:  
Armament**

The human world would be his.

He'd miscalculated things the first go-round. He'd underestimated the tenacity and strength of Kaosu, the fortitude of the human spirit. There'd been no question Kaosu would appear to defend his beloved Earth, but Arago had never anticipated his being so...formidable.

A lesser creature might have wallowed in the shame of such an embarrassing defeat—and make no mistake, the Demon Emperor held a nasty grudge—but even the greatest of warriors and the mightiest of generals fell prey to the occasional...setback. In the lifespan of an immortal, it was to be expected, every few millennia or so. Such experiences were necessary; it helped in developing a thicker skin.

Arago was a prideful and self-sustaining sort, but he knew when to cut his losses and regroup. He'd spent the last one thousand years scheming, crushing, manipulating, razing villages, assembling troops, all for the glorious return of the great Demon Sovereign of the Youjakai. No expense was spared in arming his youja soldiers, demonized spirits snatched from the bodies of the slain and sealed within the confines of dark, metal suits. They were simpletons, in a way, but possessed the malevolence necessary for unscrupulous destruction.

Of greater potential—and use—were his Mashou Generals, opportunistic humans lured into servitude by the promise of glory and strength. They had more of an...independence about them than their youja inferiors, but the greed and blood-lust fueling their ambitions made for stronger warriors, and far more profitable pawns. They could in a matter of swipes do what would take half a regiment of youjas to achieve. Never had he possessed more efficient weapons. They would serve as frontline defense against Kaosu and whoever or whatever else rose to defy him.

It was no wonder his Generals were among the most powerful of his army. They were, after all, wielders of the very armor he himself once sported in battle. Granted, they were only in part, but the devastating nature of their abilities was a testament to the majesty of his true form. The humans themselves were tools, and like any tool, would be disposed of once they had outlived their use. But through them he had recovered four of the pieces necessary for restoring his armor to its original state.

...And, there was a sick satisfaction in knowing one of mankind's own had been manipulated into wreaking havoc upon the earth.

The disassembling of his armor had been, at the time, the most grievous of his losses from his defeat at the hands of the meddlesome warrior monk, but in retrospect had proven a surprisingly beneficial twist of fate. It had, after all, given him not one suit of armor, but four, each worn by a soldier more savage and unrestrained than the next. In effect, Kaosu had only served to increase the size of his attack force, ensuring more widespread mayhem and a furthering of his control over the human world.

Even so, Kaosu was no fool. There were still five yoroi fragments unclaimed, and Kaosu would use any means necessary to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. The monk would have likely sought bearers of his own, humans drawn to the pull of the yoroi virtues who, in their foolish sentimentality, would rise to protect "all that was good and just."

(Mankind was nauseatingly predictable in that way.)

And if such bearers existed, and would not yield, he would simply take their armors—and their lives—by force. Such was the nature of evil. It did not ask permission, nor did it care. Whatever was pleasant or advantageous or desirable was obtained, forcefully if needed, consequences be damned. It was what made "goodness" so weak. Light was a gentleman. Where darkness deceived, light revealed. Where darkness was cold, light was warmth personified.

Light was the eternal foil to dark.

And he hated it.

But the armors in and of themselves were neither "good," nor were they inherently "bad." They simply were. Their powers and abilities could be used, to whatever end, at the discretion of whomever wielded them. Which was what made the uncertainty of the remaining five so...troubling. Arago knew better than anyone the strength—and danger—of free will. And he was smart enough not to underestimate Kaosu—or humans, for that matter—a second time. They had the potential to prove a serious threat to his plan, and while a thousand years was nothing to one of his own kind, Arago felt he had been patient enough.

Time was coming to a close. Soon he would invade. His troops were armed and ready for the attack. His Mashou were bloodthirsty and prepped for war. Their armors pulsed with the intensified energies of the Youjakai, the youngest of his generals set to lead the assault. The unworthy had been weeded out; the practice grounds of his castle were littered with the remains of the weak and deficient. The youjas drilled daily, their chains greased and spears sharp.

And if absolutely all else failed, there was always his reserve. He still had his trump card. He still had _her_.

...But no matter.

Let Kaosu come. He would destroy him, and his "champions" too. Nothing would stand in his way. He was long overdue glory. Victory was within reach now.

The human world would be his.


	8. Pampering Too Much

Author's Note: This is a shorter prompt, just a little over a page in Microsoft Works Word. It features my two favorite characters, Seiji and Nasuti, during the first season of the series in the then-demolished city of Shinjuku. The idea of using a gas station was taken from my good friend **firestar9mm's** fic, "The Late Patrol" (which has since changed my appreciation for the 7-Eleven and Circle K). Please note, a basic knowledge of the structure and terminology of a sword is helpful for the understanding of the fic.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 8:  
Pampering Too Much**

She felt a little silly being jealous of an inanimate object.

Nasuti watched as Seiji slid the length of his fingers up and across the front of his Korin Ken. He squeezed the hilt, flexing twice, holding the strong downwind to inspect the blade. Confident it was free of scratches or nicks, he steadied the sword upright and administered the same inspection to the back. If Nasuti's counting was correct, he'd rotated his sword four times in the last half hour.

It was irritating to watch; yet their circumstances prevented her from doing much else. The boys had settled in for the night under the remnants of a gas station, using the (miraculously intact) overhang as protection from the rain. The accompanying convenience store provided food, bottled water, bathrooms—non-functional, but a luxury nonetheless—matches for fire, and reading material for the long and restless nights.

She was irritated yes, but also fascinated by the perfection of his hands. She'd almost convinced herself it was boredom and nothing more, yet a part of her knew, quite begrudgingly, that Seiji himself, and not his handiwork, was the source of her intrigue. She was frustrated both by the sensual motions of his hand, and by his blatant disregard for her company.

"Keep going! Keep going!"

Ryo was bouncing a soccer ball in the air with his knees. It soared high above the overhang and beyond the roof of the convenience shop, thanks to the increased strength of the Rekka sub-yoroi. Jun and the guys had gathered around him, cheering and goofing off in the streets.

 _Maybe I'll go watch Ryo instead._

Her attention turned back to Seiji, as he pulled a white washcloth from behind and proceeded to buffer the ends of his oversized sword.

Nasuti grabbed a magazine she'd pilfered and sulked.

 _Damn him._

And as she flipped idly through the articles on cosmetics and sex, she failed to notice the faint smile playing upon his lips.

Once more, he tilted the blade, Nasuti's reflection clear in the perfect polish of the steel.


	9. Wish Upon A Star

Author's Notes: I think it's important to note that every major character is featured in this fic, including Byakuen (though his part is brief). However, the focal point of the story is the dialogue between Touma and Jun, so none of the remaining cast makes an actual appearance. I should warn you that I write my characters differently than how you probably see them in most fanfictions (especially at FFNet). I view Shin and Shuu as equal characters in the series (in terms of power and importance to the story), so I write them as having a very competitive relationship. It's not uncommon for them to fight. As for Seiji, I am incapable of writing him as anything but a bit of a dramaqueen, so you should picture him in most scenes with his eyes shut and nose in the air. The other characterizations should be pretty standard, **though listening to/finding translations for the YST CD Dramas (particularly _Tenkuden_ ) would be immensely helpful in understanding my portrayal of Touma and the importance/complexity of his interaction with Jun.**

(I should mention that I refer to Byakuen in the beginning as a "magical cat." I realize Byakuen is in fact a "tiger," but seeing how tiger is a species of "cat" and I liked how it flowed with the sentence, I kept it in there. Just an FYI.)

When I saw the prompt for this particular theme, I immediately thought of this picture (sorry for the crappy image quality; this was the best shot I could find). I thought, "Wouldn't it be impactful for Touma and Jun to go stargazing and have this really critical experience or conversation as it pertains to an 8-year-old." And that's sort of how this themefic was born.

Jun's not a popular character in fanfiction (I'm not a fan myself) and I've never written Touma as anything but an afterthought, so this piece is a first. I had more fun than I thought I would writing for two characters I normally ignore. So, I hope you enjoy. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 9:  
Wish Upon A Star**

There were times when Jun had wondered what life would be like with a baby brother. He didn't think as much on those things now, of course, but he'd often imagined—typically in science, his most dreaded subject—how it might feel to play ball with a brother, or run races with a brother, or fight for that last piece of cake with a brother. Not that he really knew the ins and outs of how brothers and sisters came to be, but as the only child in a family of three, life could get lonesome running and skateboarding and kicking ball out in the streets alone.

So it came as an unexpected miracle when the _one_ brother he'd desired transformed into _five_ brothers _and_ a sister _and_ a magical cat. And how funny it was that he was running races and playing ball and fighting for the last piece of just about everything on a regular basis…with a sister and a magical cat to boot. He'd certainly never envisioned having a sister, of all things, but now that he had one it was kind of nice. He couldn't imagine a better big sister than Nasuti, and he definitely couldn't imagine a kid brother being cooler than Ryo and the others. How many kid brothers could wear magical armor, fight evil, shoot lightning bolts from their swords, save the world, and finish their homework all before supper?

...Not that he wasn't lonely, from time to time. As awesome as Ryo and the others were, they were still a number of years older than Jun, and had their own activities, own interests, own lives that didn't always include or involve Jun. Like today, Shin and Shuu had taken the trolley into town to play the arcade, which should have been fun. But Jun knew better than going to the arcade with Shin and Shuu. Shin and Shuu were _very_ competitive, always trying to one-up the other at every game, and more than once their "friendly rivalry" had ended in a scuffle on the arcade floor. The last time the manager had threatened to throw them out if they didn't stop yelling and it was only thanks to the mediating skills of Ryo that the group of them wasn't banned from stepping foot inside the arcade ever again.

Normally, Ryo went with Shin and Shuu for that very reason, but today he'd taken Byakuen into the woods to stretch his legs and Jun knew Ryo liked doing that on his own. He guessed Ryo liked spending "quality time" with Byakuen, which was less and less nowadays what with so many people living under Nasuti's roof. And Byakuen really was Ryo's "pet" after all. But if he was honest with himself, Jun liked spending time with Ryo best, so it irked him when he had to share his favorite "big brother" with Byakuen and the others.

With Ryo and Byakuen out, and Shin and Shuu off to town, only Seiji and Nasuti were in the house, and "only Seiji and Nasuti in the house" was a heavy sentence. If it was a good day, then things were fine. But if Seiji and Nasuti were in their "married couple mode," as Shuu called it, then you'd rather be almost anywhere—even fighting the Youjakai—than alone with "only Seiji and Nasuti in the house."

Today was unfortunately the latter.

Seiji and Nasuti had gotten into one of their little "tiffs"—Jun never understood what they were about—at breakfast. Nasuti had spent all morning and afternoon muttering curses in French, while Seiji sulked on the living room couch. Every so often Seiji'd go to the kitchen for a drink and Nasuti would go to the bathroom to pee and they'd "accidentally" cross paths, flashing each other a "death glare" the entire way.

(Jun sometimes wondered if Seiji and Nasuti _liked_ arguing with each other.)

That left Jun with only one option: Touma. …Not that Jun didn't like spending time with Touma. He was far less likely to get into the kind of stupid trouble Shin and Shuu would. And while he was arguably the "moodiest" of the group, Jun somehow found him easier to deal with than Seiji, who was always on the verge of exasperation for one reason or another. He was also the most isolated, and the most likely to run off somewhere on his own; so doing something "alone" with Touma was simple, since Touma was, by default, already alone. He wasn't as cool as Ryo (but, who was?) and he didn't have the easy laughter of Shuu, but Touma was someone you could talk to. And today, Jun needed someone to "talk to."

Touma, like Jun, was an only child, but unlike Jun, was not troubled by the thoughts of solitude. On the contrary, Touma was at his most comfortable, seemed most at peace on his own. Jun didn't see how; after all, how much fun could you really have all by yourself? He just didn't understand how Touma could take studying alone, playing video games alone, eating alone. And it wasn't that he'd learned how to _just deal_ with it; he actually _liked_ spending time _without_ the others. Maybe there was some secret that he could let Jun in on. Maybe there was something Touma had figured out that Jun wasn't smart enough to discover on his own. Jun believed it possible; Touma was only a thousand times smarter than, well, _everyone_.

For the moment, Jun was too tired to talk. They'd spent all day hiking through the woods for the "perfect lookout spot" and the twelve cliffs they'd passed on their way here had been, according to Touma, "geographically insufficient." Having lived in gas stations on snacks and canned foods and toiling through a nearly obliterated Shinjuku for months, Jun considered himself pretty tough. But Touma was older and used to longer hikes, so by the time they set up camp, the sun had long since set and Jun was tuckered out.

...He was chilly too. The nights were always cool this time of year and Jun was grateful, now more than ever that Nasuti had insisted he bundle up. He didn't want to look like a baby or a wuss, especially in front of one of the guys and especially not when he'd been so eager to tag along. He'd be mortified if they had to turn back now.

Touma didn't seem to mind the cooler temps or the crispy winds. He carried on as normal, polishing the lens of his favorite telescope. He'd peer through the eyepiece now and then, move the tripod to the left, then the right, and then peer through the eyepiece again, before circling back around to polish the lens. It seemed like a lot of fuss and rigamarole to Jun, but stargazing was one of Touma's favorite pastimes. He loved staring out into space, studying the stars, mapping the constellations. It _was_ pretty neat to see something that far off mere millimeters from your own nose, but Jun didn't think he'd ever have the passion or patience to fool with it—or anything else, for that matter—the way Touma did.

"We picked a good night to do this," Touma beamed, brushing some leaves to the side with his foot. "It makes for a chilly stakeout, but clear conditions are key for optimal visibility."

Jun pulled his jacket a little tighter in affirmation of the cold, as Touma stood proud and tall on the edge of the cliff. With his hands placed firmly at his hips, he breathed deep, exhaling with satisfaction as he piano-tapped his fingers against his jeans.

"Would you look at that?" He spoke into the night, more to himself than to Jun. "Not a cloud in the sky."

At the silence, Touma tilted his head back around to face Jun, all huddled up inside his thick winter coat.

"You know," Touma began, closing the distance between them in two long strides. "I was a little surprised when you asked to come along tonight."

Jun's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

"Well, it's not every day you have conditions this good for watching stars, but it hardly beats a day of video games and junk food at the arcade. I'd have thought you'd _jump_ at the chance to go into town."

Touma situated himself on a log sitting opposite Jun's.

"Although, I suppose anything's better than being stuck in the house with Seiji and Nasuti all day."

At that comment, Jun had to laugh.

"Don't misunderstand." Touma doodled in the dirt with a stick. "I'm glad you came. I just can't see too many people choosing this," Touma's eyes circled the surrounding view, "over spending a day of fun and games with friends."

Jun chose his next words carefully as he watched Touma scribble abstract shapes into the soil. " _You_ did."

Touma ceased his doodlings at the remark and stared at Jun in surprise. He regarded him a moment before jabbing the earth again with his stick.

Touma chuckled. "You got me there."

"I like that about you," Jun admitted. "I wish _I_ could be more like that."

Touma shot Jun an inquisitive look.

"I mean, you're so… _content_. You don't really need me here to be okay. And the thing is, you're _okay_ with that." Jun sank a little deeper into his coat and sighed. "Is it so wrong to want a little brother? I know I should be thankful for what I have, for you and the guys and for Nasuti too. But, I can't help wondering what it would be like to have a baby brother."

Jun's eyes lowered as he dug his hands into his pockets. "Am I…selfish?"

For some reason, Jun's question struck Touma as funny. He knew better than to laugh; that was the worst possible reaction he could have. But it seemed like such a ridiculous thing to ask, except he could tell by the tone in his voice that this was a very serious issue to Jun. He didn't want to make light of Jun's "problem," and it wasn't everyday people came to him for "tender" advice. When was it last that someone had asked him to solve something that wasn't an algebraic word problem?

"Easy up, Jun," Touma said in his softest voice. "I may not have the 'emotional depth' of Ryo or the 'social etiquette' of Seiji, but I know for a fact that wanting a baby brother does _not_ make you selfish." Touma reached over and tilted Jun's head up with his finger. "Or a bad person. It's okay to want good things. You _deserve_ good things. And you shouldn't be ashamed to ask for them."

"But how is it you can be so _happy_?" Jun whined. "How is it you can sit out here in the wet and the cold and covered in leaves and look up at the stars and not wonder what cool and exciting things everybody else is doing back home?"

Touma chuckled to himself at how "eight-year-old" Jun sounded. "Well let me ask you, Jun. Shin's big into tea ceremony, right?"

Jun nodded.

"And when he sets up those elaborate table settings and fixes tea and puts on the whole show, does Shuu ever jump into help?"

Jun scrunched his nose. It was a known fact that Shuu thought tea arrangement was the most boring thing _ever_. He'd said so more than once. "No way! Shuu would never."

"And does Ryo talk to Seiji about designer clothes or go shopping with him and Nasuti at the mall?"

Ryo and designer clothes? Those words didn't even belong in the same sentence.

Jun shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"Why do you think that is, Jun?"

Jun thought about it a moment, about what each of the guys liked to do and why. "They like different things, I guess."

Touma snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Ryo isn't any more interested in wearing blazers and designer jeans than Seiji is kicking a soccer ball across the field. Ryo and Seiji like different things just like Shuu and Shin like different things, because Ryo and Seiji and Shin and Shuu are all different people. You can't lump everyone into one category and expect them all to think and act the same. Likewise, you can't expect you and me to react identically to the same situation."

There was a long stretch of silence as Jun mulled over Touma's words.

"I wouldn't give me _too_ much credit, though."

The exclamation made Jun's back straighten. "Oh?"

"When I was your age, there was a time or two _I'd_ wondered what it was like to have a baby brother."

Jun's eyes grew wide. "...No way. _You?_ "

Touma nodded. "Oh yeah. Probably not as often or determinedly as you, but I remember wondering how different life might have been or how different _I_ might have been if I'd had a friend."

"But you never got that little brother." Jun's voice was sad.

"No, I didn't." Touma chucked his stick to the side. "But I was the sort of kid who didn't need that kind of companionship. Sure, I thought about it from time to time, but in the end I realized that being alone was okay. I could do things the way I wanted, without worrying about a little brother or, God forbid," Touma chuckled at the thought, "a little sister getting in the way."

As he finished, Touma looked far off into the sky, a sentimental look in his eye.

"And...what about me?" Jun's voice was soft. "What if I never get my little brother either?"

Touma turned away from the stars and shrugged. "Maybe you won't. But that doesn't mean you have to be alone. After all, I'm not."

Jun nodded, thinking of all the friends Touma had. "That's true."

"You could always call up a couple buddies and hit the arcade. Or you could live in an apartment with your dog and take him for walks."

A large smile spread across Jun's face as he imagined all the fun he could have with a pet.

"Or," Touma's voice took on a teasing tone, "you could find a pretty girl to fight with. Fall in love, marry her, and have a couple kids of your own."

Jun's grin grew wider. "Two brothers, so they always have someone to play with."

"And besides," Touma's tone turned serious, "you'll always have me."

Jun's eyes hit the ground, embarrassed, but touched. "...Thanks Touma."

"You got it, kid."

Touma stood up quick to stretch, hoping to segue into easier conversation. "Man oh man. It's getting late and we haven't even spotted the first star!"

"Shin and Shuu are probably back by now," Jun muttered absently. "I bet Ryo's back too."

"You want to start heading back?"

Jun thought about going back. He wondered what the guys were doing, if Ryo was reading by the fire with Byakuen or if Seiji and Nasuti had "made up" since their little "tiff." He thought about going back and shook his head.

"Nah." He unzipped his coat and stretched.

There was nothing to worry about. The guys would be there in the morning. And in the afternoon, too. Nasuti would have breakfast waiting and Byakuen would lick his face. He had so many people waiting for him back home...

"Alright!" Touma yanked out his finding chart and spread it out over a rock. "Let's see..."

Jun watched Touma scan the star map a hundred miles a minute, suddenly and completely unaware of Jun's presence.

He brought a hand to his mouth and giggled.

...Well, maybe he could wish for that baby brother after all.


	10. Scar

Author's Notes: This particular themefic takes a tad more precedence over the others, because it is a dedication themefic to a LiveJournal buddy of mine, Moon Doggy. I wrote this not only as Theme 10 for YST 20, but as a New Year's Resolution gift for someone who loves YST as much as, if not more than, me. So hopefully, this fic is to her exceptionally high standards, and that I did not unintentionally botch any historical details in the making of this fic. *gnashes nails*

As with most of my stories, a little research/background info is helpful for understanding the plot/general going-ons. In particular, it might help to understand the background of Anubis, the series-long archnemesis of Seiji (Anubis was changed to Cale and Shuten to Anubis in the American version, for reasons I cannot fathom, so before you PM me screaming "THE NAMES ARE BACKWARDS!111," please remember that all my stories are written for YST, NOT the American counterpart, _Ronin Warriors_ ). No doubt you'll pick this up in the fic, but Anubis' real name is Sasaki Kujuurou and this particular fic focuses on his "first life" (before his recruitment as a Masho) in the "Sengoku" (i.e. "Warring States") period of Japan. Considering the prompt for this themefic is "Scar," it stands to reason this story is my take on the origins of the character Anubis' prominent facial scar.

Originally, my plan was for Kujuurou to cross paths with Date Masamune, Seiji's blood ancestor, except Sasaki's birthdate is listed as 1550 A.D., and Masamune isn't born until 1567, putting Sasaki at 17 years of age at the time of Masamune's birth. Date Masamune is fourteen when he leads his first campaign, which would have put Sasaki at roughly 31 years of age. I'm pretty sure none of the Masho were physically older than their twenties in the show, making an encounter between Sasaki and Date Masamune in the "real world" a timeline impossibility. (Not to mention, Date Masamune is renowned for being a ruthless bastard, in which case the Sasaki of my story would have had a very different outcome than the one given in this fic.) So I axed the Sasaki-Masamune encounter and went a different route, though Date Masamune is mentioned briefly in the fic.

I also wanted to point out that, while Sasaki is the shortest of the Masho (or pretty close), I always thought of him as a "bulkier" man (maybe it's the armor), so I describe him as such in the fic. Might be taking a bit of a liberty there, though his "bulkiness" should be kept in perspective to the relative size of the general Japanese populous (in other words, Sasaki might not be "big" by American standards, but "bigger than the average Japanese," who are demographically smaller than your Caucasian and African-American races).

Oh, and YST Encyclopedia lists Sasaki's occupation as "farmer," though it doesn't specify the _kind_ of farming he does. So I went with rice farming because, well, it's Japan after all. ^^ I really wanted to go the apple orchard/farming route, since Aomori Prefecture is the largest producer of apples in Japan, except Fuji Apples weren't introduced until the 1930s or something, LOOOONG after the events of this fic. ^^

As always, your feedback is appreciated. I do hope you (and **moon_doggy** especially) enjoy the fic.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 10:  
Scar**

The water was cool, but soothing as Kujuurou waded by the river's edge. He considered himself fortunate to have such an abundant supply of water near his homestead. Not only was it a necessity for growing rice, but it made cooking, cleaning, and bathing much easier than drawing water from a well. Of course, river water would be frigid in the winter months, but even that was of little consequence to Kujuurou. He toiled and sweltered under the summer sun; the brisk winter winds were a welcome reprieve.

Kujuurou leaned his head back against a rock, staring off into the fading sky. The colors of dusk were pretty, and the calm of the coming night soothed his soul. Farming, though fulfilling, was strenuous work, and though he took great pride in tending the fields, he couldn't help but smile when the day was done. A part of him, he sensed, longed for something more-something beyond the rice paddies and riverbanks of Aomori. An adventure, strange and wild, calling to him from the edges of consciousness...

...But there was little time for daydreams now. Soon night would be upon him, and sooner still, the day. As much as Kujuurou hated the early rise, he hated a poor day's work even more. And he couldn't perform his best with sluggish hands and weary eyes.

Heavily, Kujuurou pulled himself from the waters, hoisting himself onto dry land. He stole a glance at his darkening reflection, his naked body strong and his muscles taut. He regarded himself-his toes crunching against the cool grass and his manhood constricted from the chill of dusk. His extremeties were large and calloused, and both his nose and jaw were strong and pronounced. Everything about his physique screamed "strength" and "power," distingushing him from many of his male peers.

Even so, Kujuurou was not a handsome man. He was average, at best, even with his bulging muscles and impressive loins. There was something intimidating in his size, his charmless scowl of a smile, and the almost predatory features of his face. More than once his appearance and countenance had been likened to a wolf. Kujuurou did not think himself undesirable or unpleasant; indeed, he considered himself the manliest of men. And yet, he held no appeal to women. Even into his twenties he remained unattached-no wife, no children, no family.

But these things did not trouble Kujuurou. Some men were simply not meant for marriage. Truly, it was hard to envision himself with a woman, with little ones. The very thought seemed so...mundane. Bigger things lay in wait for Kujuurou. He was certain of it.

Kujuurou admired himself in the water a minute more, giving his body ample time to dry. Then he collected his clothes and dressed, adjusting the sleeves and belt to his liking. Finally, he reached for his most prized possession, a samurai sword resting carefully by the riverbank. Like Kujuurou, the sword was broad and powerful, and he'd disciplined himself to several hours practice a day. He was but a low-ranking bushi, a nameless warrior amongst many. But he wielded the sword with a pride and dignity only a samurai could ascertain.

It was his only defense against the Dates and their clan of elite swordsmen, who presided over much of the lands of the North. Though Kujuurou had no immediate kin, his clansmen had fought with the Dates from before he could remember. A man's enemy was the clan's enemy, as was their way, and so Kujuurou scorned the Dates, biding his time for the chance to prove his worth.

Already the daimyo had two sons, one of which had recently lost an eye, reportedly to smallpox. It was an ill omen for such tragedy to befall the eldest son, and Kujuurou laughed, imagining the impending collapse of the powerful Date regime. No man with one eye would be worth _anything_ , especially in battle.

Kujuurou envisioned himself at the front lines, standing face to face with the Date daimyo. What honor it would bring to lead the campaign that crippled the Date clan once and for all. What victory to watch the daimyo take his own life at the jaws of defeat. And what better man than Kujuurou, most fearsome bushi of the North, to hang Date daimyo's head on a post?

Kujuurou chuckled at his musings, unsheathing the blade for but a second to stare at his cold reflection in the steel, before sheathing it once more and turning heel for home. He'd fooled around long enough; it was time to call it a day.

As he made his way to his house, a strange halo of light shone in his peripheral vision. It was hazy in the distance, but no doubt there, moving at an incredible speed. It was difficult to discern much, so far away, but the orb of light seemed to be growing brighter, darting its way along the far edges of his field.

Annoyed at the intensity of the light, Kujuurou turned from the direction of his home and instead pursued the quick-moving ethereal presence. He maneuvered around the rice paddies, fearful his large feet would trample his crops. It would take longer that way, but there was no sense in destroying his yield over something that was-probably-nothing. Still, he kept his sword at the ready. One could never be too careful, especially in times of war.

His footsteps were soundless against the grass as he ran, and always he kept his hand at the blade. A bushi was never caught off-guard. A bushi was always ready for the attack.

Farther ahead, the light shone brighter still, but stopped unexpectedly near a large rock. Kujuurou used the opportunity to pick up speed, hoping to corner the presence-or whatever it was-before it disappeared. Something about it seemed unnatural, as though it might dissipate into thin air. Though as he closed the gap between himself and the orb of light, he realized, with the squint of his eyes, that it was no celestial being or ethereal presence. The outline, which Kujuurou could now clearly see, was that of a suit of armor, crouching near the rock.

"Trespasser" was the first word that entered Kujuurou's mind. They were samurai, obviously, so it was doubtful they'd come to steal rice. They seemed oblivious to his presence and had hugged only the outer edges of his land, so they were clearly not interested in harming him. Crouched so cautiously, so elusively, it could mean only one thing.

Kujuurou heard the shouts of men and the sounds of conflict off in the distance. Was there a raid nearby? Had the Date clan attacked? Was a campaign assembling to charge the daimyo? No. No, Kujuurou understood the intent. He knew what it was the men pursued.

Boldly, Kujuurou marched forward, grass crunching beneath his feet. The rogue samurai whirled his body in the direction of the noise, his senses on high alert. Even with the poor visibility, the intensity of the samurai's gaze sent a trill of excitement down Kujuurou's spine. His posture readied for the attack, as the tips of his toes ground into the earth.

At this range, Kujuurou now realized that the "halo of light" had been the moon reflecting off the metal of the samurai's armor. Though he couldn't quite figure out how a crescent moon could reflect such concentrated light. And now, standing before him, the light was almost...blinding. The brightness of it pained his eyes and he blinked twice to rid himself of the glare. Yet nothing he did seemed to eradicate the glow. It seemed to grow, suffocating the beautiful night. Oh how he hated the light!

So paralyzed by the magnificent glow that Kujuurou did not notice the samurai's lightning steps as he lunged for Kujuurou's head. All he heard was the sliding of metal against scabbard and a precise "whish" as a blade swung swiftly through the air. Kujuurou took a sharp backward step-his only defense against the menacing assault-tripping over a clump of soil in the grass and landing flat on his backside.

With confused but conscious thought, it was clear to Kujuurou that he'd kept his head. But a stinging pain and the trickle of liquid across the left side of his face indicated he did not escape the encounter unscathed.

Whether it was the throbbing ache or the clarity of what was to be certain death, the blinding light seemed to dim, and the nameless warrior stood before him, in all his elegant glory.

Bathed in darkness, only now could Kujuurou distinguish the individual features of the warrior man. His face, though partially hidden within the helmet of his samurai armor, was angular and pleasant. His eyes were a piercing grey, and his stature, though bulkened by the suit, was tall and lean. Most other features were impossible to discern, but the beauty of the man was unmistakable. And now this specimen of a samurai would strike him down, his face filled with blood and his ass planted firmly in the dirt. And that would be the story of Kujuurou...

An echoing yell down the road pried the samurai's icy focus from Kujuurou's throat and to the feral snarls of his pursuers. Through his mask the samurai's eyes narrowed, before turning his attention back to Kujuurou. He stared into the fallen man's eyes hard, then pointed the tip of his blade at Kujuurou's nose. Then suddenly, both the blade and the samurai were gone, leaving Kujuurou bloodied and beaten, comforted only by the blackness of night...

Anubis peered over the mountaintop as he stalked his prey, trudging through the snow-covered trails of Taisetsuzan. Korin no Seiji, as he was called, led the way, trailed by a tall and pretty girl. He studied the boy's face, finding his features distantly familiar, and their angular attractiveness rattling to his nerves. He was muscular and lean, with piercing ice-like eyes and a merciless gaze...

Absently, Anubis brought a hand to his face, stroking the cross-patterned scar across his left upper-cheek. A long-forgotten rage boiled inside him, recollecting something-a memory, perhaps-from centuries past. He couldn't pinpoint quite what, but this Korin no Seiji fueled both anger and excitement in the Yami Masho. Anger, excitement, and a need for...a need for what?

Anubis smiled wickedly. Whatever it was, this Korin no Seiji character brought out the devilishness in him. The day was young, and the possibilities were endless.

 _What a story it will be to tell_ , Anubis thought to himself. _Oh what a story it will be._


	11. Companion

Author's Notes: So here it is, my Byakuen piece. It ended up a smidgen longer than I'd anticipated. My plan was to keep this short (well, _shorter_ ), because well, it's _Byakuen_. He's present/visible for much of the series...but mostly he's just _there_. He really doesn't _do_ much, save growl and/or babysit Nasuti and Jun. So really, what's there to say?

Admittedly, he's not a "favorite" character of mine. Which isn't to say I don't _like_ Byakuen, but he's not a character I would typically write fic for, outside a 20-year anniversary celebration for the show. Generally speaking, I loathe animal sidekicks, whether it be anime, comics, Disney films, etc. BUT, I have a genuine fondness for Byakuen, which I think stems from the fact that he doesn't speak (speaking Disney sidekicks are, on the whole, ultra suck). I'm also touched by his uncommonly kind eyes. It's his most striking feature in my opinion, a sort of physical cue into Byakuen's true nature, which is that of a gentle, wizened friend.

An episode from the TV series shows Byakuen standing side-by-side with Kaosu, implying that at one time, he and Kaosu traveled together as companions (like with Ryo at the start of YST). Which indicates to me that Byakuen is probably pretty old (a thousand years at least, as he's shown in the flashback of younger Kaosu preparing to battle Arago). It's the angle I ran with in the fic, to emphasize the changes Byakuen has borne witness to throughout the ages.

Regardless, here it is. Please enjoy.

7-second Japanese:

 _Onii-chan_ = older brother (used to address older men regardless of blood relations)

 _Oi_ = rude, informal "hey!"

 _ningenkai_ = the world of humans

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 11:  
Companion**

Convenience stores. Strip malls. Gas stations. Arcades.

To the modern man, each was as commonplace and unremarkable as the next.

Water was readily available. Supplies like food and clothing were rarely more than a street corner or car ride away. Motorized vehicles could cross long distances in minutes. Information appeared at the touch of a button.

Six millennia had passed. And within seconds, the entire world had exploded into a series of blinks, blips, and flashes of light.

The advances were leaps and bounds beyond what he remembered even fifty or one hundred years prior, when man traveled by horse. When food was hunted with bow and arrow. When water was drawn from the village well.

So much change.

Even man himself had changed. He had to, in keeping with the times. It was impossible for time to change and man not change right along side it. Time it seemed was _for_ man, working on behalf of man. They defined one another. They coexisted.

It was the very progression of time that lent to the unusual band of companions he now surveyed.

"Onii-chan! _Oniiii-chaaaaan!_ "

A soccer ball went whizzing overhead.

"No, no! Over here! Over here!"

His chief companion, dark hair and benevolent eyes, laughed as the little one went chasing after the checkered toy.

"Oi!" The boy with broad shoulders yelled. "What are you aiming for? A mirage?"

"Stop grousing," his cerulean-eyed friend glared in reproach. "It's not a real game."

It was an all too familiar scene with the warriors of the ningenkai. Fiercely courageous and steadfast on the battlefield, but oft childish and quarrelsome in daily life. A testament to their young age, to the candles of hope burning bright within their youthful spirits.

"Such bickering." Fondness was evident in the older, feminine voice. "There's not a thing to be done with them, eh Byakuen?"

The tiger snorted his response, settling his head into the inviting lap of the long-legged female. Her fingers instantly fell to the sensitive spot at his ear, pausing every few scratches to brush his mane. The icy blond seated beside her scowled, ever-annoyed when the woman's attention was pulled from him onto someone or something else.

But Byakuen was hard-pressed to rebuke him. There was something about the affections of a female that far outclassed the affections of a male. Though it seemed the bearer of Korin was the only one of his companions old enough to understand it.

"Get ready, Onii-chan! It's coming your way!"

The checkered ball zipped back and forth (much like the insults) for the better part of the early afternoon, until finally the little one tired and the group agreed it was time for a break. The woman, ever the group's diligent caretaker, had prepared food and drinks in advance. And after much tugging and pushing and flicking one another in the head, the boys settled down together in the green grass, legs sprawled, muscles loose.

Indeed, time was a miraculous thing. The change, the advancement, the gaining of knowledge at the expense of truth. The evolution of man and his relationship with the world. Soccer balls and carbonated beverages and portable food in little blue sacks. So much time behind him.

The little one sipped the last of his drink, falling lazily into the tiger's silky white fur.

The tiger did not look back.


	12. Promise

Author's Notes: Just this week, I got the Platinum Trophy for "Root Letter" on the PS4. Great game. It's a visual novel adventure title by Kadokawa Games. If you're not into video games, you're probably not familiar with the name. (Truth be told, you're probably not familiar with it even if you do game.) It's kind of obscure—certainly far removed from the likes of "Fortnite," "Call of Duty," and "Assassin's Creed." But obscurity is right up my alley, and I had a blast playing through to the end.

I mention it because it's used as inspiration for this prompt. Not really in the subject matter, per se, but in location. The setting for "Root Letter" is Shimane Prefecture—specifically, the capital city of Matsue. It's a real place, as are all of the tourist attractions highlighted in the fic. Yaegaki Shrine, the Mirror Pond...these places actually exist. (The photos are quite beautiful, if you wanted to research them yourself.) I say that because the beauty of YST is in its connection to the "real world." All of its characters are descendents of (famous) people who actually lived, and I wanted to honor that by keeping as much of the story "real" as possible. The narrative of "Root Letter" begins in the year 1999, so I'm assuming these places were around in the mid-to-late 1980s, when my story takes place. Again, it's an assumption, so I do apologize in advance for any unintentional anachronisms. I do try to keep all my pieces period-accurate.

This is the first (and probably ONLY) of my themefics that puts Ryo at the forefront of the story. As I was browsing through the prompts I'd already completed, it occurred to me that Ryo was featured prominently in NONE of them. Since he's the focal of the entire first two seasons of the show, I figured a fic for him might be a good idea. xD It's a little on the dramatic side (a given; this is RYO, after all), but I wanted to address how Ryo might think/feel following the events of Gaiden. In typical YST fashion, Sunrise never really explains how the guys recover/deal in the aftermath of Shikaisen and that whole mess in New York. (As a sidenote, you may want to yank out your Gaiden DVDs for this one. My stories tend to be written for the more OAV-savvy of my readers.)

The Troopers are a little older in this one. The events take place post-Message. (Seiji and Nasuti are officially a couple.)

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 12:  
Promise**

It didn't come up much, really.

It was rare the thought of it even crossed his mind. He couldn't even be sure what specific word or action triggered it. The memories would come, the feeling would bubble up within, and he'd find himself curled up on the inside, a pain like a pressure point pulsating at the center of his chest.

It was something akin to heartbreak, he knew. But the idea of heartbreak sounded so _extreme_ , and he wondered if he was allowed such a severe sentiment, given the time they'd shared had been short. They were but a few fleeting moments between, really, strangers. And he'd known nothing of her, nothing beyond the warmth of her eyes or the orange hue of the sunset reflected off the dark of her hair. But for all its impermanence, he couldn't shake the magnitude of their meeting. He couldn't shake that it was fated to be.

Perhaps that's what made it hard. If their meeting had been perchance, a random encounter on the street, he could forget. But it wasn't. It felt like...destiny. Like it was meant to be. At the time, he had just turned sixteen. The separation had hurt, but the chaos of the circumstances and his own immaturity cushioned the impact of what transpired. Now, two years since the battle in New York, the memories came rushing back with a vengeance—memories of the attack, memories of _her_.

He sometimes wondered if it was the effect of getting older, his friends' family members marrying off, or even the inevitability of their group growing up and moving on. More than likely it was the effect of displaced guilt, the lingering doubt of, had he "done this or that," she might have lived. And still, a part of him wondered if there was anything he could have done to make any difference at all. It wouldn't be the first time he'd taken unnecessary responsibility upon himself.

Ryo brought the glass to his lips, only half-listening to his fellow comrades on the couch. Shuu rattled on about taking a day trip to Matsue, while Shin eyeballed a map. Touma rifled through a newspaper trying to find scores for the previous night's game. (No telling the story behind that one. Touma rarely missed a Tigers match.) Seiji sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. At his side was Nasuti, stacks of papers piled high for some research project at the university.

It was the Trooper team in its entirety—excluding Jun, of course, who had school—together, present and unified with Sanada Ryo feeling a million miles away.

"My sister said they have a 'Mirror Pond' at Yaegaki Shrine." Shin's brows furrowed as he flipped purposely through a Matsue guidebook. "The shrine sells love fortunes."

At the mention of Sayoko, Nasuti smiled. "Your sister's been married a few months now."

Shin nodded. "Three, to be exact." There was a pause. "She seems happy enough."

There may have been a little indignation in his voice, but Ryo couldn't be sure.

"Matsue is considered a 'divine land of marriage,' or some sort."

That sounded like something Seiji would know.

"So what incentive is there for _us_ going?" Touma inquired snappily, eyes darting back and forth between news articles. "Shimane is about as 'rural' as rural gets."

"It _is_ rather out of the way," Seiji agreed. "An odd choice for a trip."

"It's _different_ ," Shin defended himself. "And, my sister said the honeymoon was 'wonderful,' so take that for what it's worth."

"More importantly," Shuu interjected, looking over Shin's shoulder at the page marked "Local Cuisine," "the food is held in high regard."

Shin turned from the guidebook to face Shuu, eyes rolling. "Matsue is a town of culture. Of _history_."

"And cows," Touma added with a smirk.

But Shin ignored him. "Shimane Prefecture is beautiful. I've visited once before, when I was young." He glared at Shuu pointedly. "There's more to entertain than just your stomach!"

"Hey!" Shuu exclaimed in defense. "My family owns a restaurant! I need to keep tabs on competition. We have a reputation to protect!"

"You live in Yokohama. What does your family care?"

"What about 'love fortunes?'" Nasuti interrupted, squashing the brawl before it could begin.

Shin blinked dazedly, turning his attention away from Shuu and back to the guide. "You place a coin at the center of a fortune, then float them on the water of the Mirror Pond. The sooner the coin and paper sink, the luckier you'll be in love. The slips are blank, but as they hit the water, writing appears to reveal your fortune."

Touma snorted. "Sounds like superstition for women and high schoolers."

"It's statements like that why you're still single!"

In a cheerier frame of mind, Ryo would have laughed. But he wasn't in a very merry mood. Not today. Without realizing, his eyes had drifted over to Seiji and Nasuti, seated peacefully beside one another in the middle of the room. They said nothing, but their postures were easy and familiar. She worked, he watched, and the contentedness between them was like the ending scene of a novel, the final act of a romantic play. On a normal day, he would have smiled. On a normal day, he would have rejoiced in their union. On a normal day, he would have counted it as one of the "goods" birthed out of their destiny's "bad."

Today was not a normal day. Today, seeing Seiji and Nasuti together...hurt.

It wasn't out of any desire or intimate feeling for Nasuti. She was, for all intents and purposes, his "sister." And it certainly wasn't from a suppressed or unspoken jealousy of Seiji. On the contrary, he couldn't be happier for his friends. In truth, it was what Seiji and Nasuti represented that struck his gut, rather than Seiji or Nasuti themselves. It was the connection between them, the bond they shared that stuck him like a knife in the heart. He had no real personal experience to go by, his own relationships limited to that of friends, family, and the like. But somehow, watching them, he felt as if he understood. He felt as though he'd known the spark, and then was forcibly sidelined as it fizzled out.

Again, he couldn't help but think of his thoughts and feelings as overly dramatic. But then why did his gut gurgle so? Why was there such an unsettlement at the center of his heart?

"It's an interesting idea, these 'love fortunes.'" Nasuti's musings jolted him back to the present. "I'm not sure there's any such practice in France."

"The Japanese and their silly folklore," Touma huffed with a shake of his head. "You won't catch me floating any such nonsense."

"Well, _I'm_ buying a love fortune. And I'm floating it right there at Yaegaki Shrine!"

Touma's comments seemed to have struck a chord with Shin.

"Go ahead," Touma shrugged. "But don't come crying to me when you're laughed off the premises by giggling teenagers."

" _We're_ teenagers," Seiji pointed out with a smirk. "Or have you forgotten, Touma?"

"When you're as old as Touma, forgetfulness is expected," Shuu teased, his neck resting on his hands as he leaned into the couch. "But hey. More girls for me. Maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll send a few your guys' way."

Shin tossed the Matsue guidebook into Shuu's lap. "You're a giver, Shuu. Though I doubt anyone here needs _your_ help. Your last date was _when_ , exactly?"

"I can't say I believe in that sort of thing," Nasuti closed an intimidating-looking book with a smile, "but I'll try floating a fortune too."

"No one's floating anything without me!"

" _...Me too_."

The focus shifted instantly to Ryo, his presence half-forgotten amidst the typical fussing and feuding of the day. He'd kept to himself, avoiding the conversation; but his abrupt outspokenness and the serious nature of his voice simmered the rowdiness of the room.

The reiteration of it only furthered the emphasis of his remark.

"I'm floating a love fortune."

Ryo said nothing more, his uncharacteristic outburst wrangling the group into a sort of confused quiet. Shin took the Matsue guidebook his sister had lent him back from Shuu's lap, while Shuu sunk into the cushions, his shoulders slumped. Touma shot a glance at Seiji, who peered at Ryo with a look that, under normal circumstances, might have rattled Ryo's nerves. But not today. Ryo was seated in the living room of Nasuti's house, but his eyes were elsewhere, as if addressing a ghost. No one knew why or what had transpired in the mind of their fiery friend, but it was an issue they wordlessly agreed to let alone.

Several moments of silence passed. Only when Nasuti spoke did the atmosphere of the room lift.

"Good idea, Ryo." She smiled, something sad and sympathetic in it to suggest she understood his struggles in a way the others did not. "We'll _all_ float a love fortune."

She shot Touma a pointed look.

"Hold on, girls!" Shuu jumped to his feet, assuming a "Superman-like" position with his hands. "The bearer of Kongo come to save you from loneliness and despair!"

"So long as the restaurants in Yokohama are better than the ones in Matsue."

" _...What_!" He stumbled a little at Shin's stab. "Say that again!"

Shin perused the section on lodging, pretending not to hear. "Perhaps we should make a week of it? They have some local inns we could book for cheap."

"That's a good idea."

"God, Touma. You're such a penny-pincher."

And just like that, the ramblings resumed, the darkening of Ryo's unvoiced internal turmoil forgotten.

Ryo himself said nothing, maintaining his self-imposed isolation from the team. On the outside, he looked no less serious, but on the inside he felt a small lightening of his load. Nothing had really changed, per se, from seconds before. He still hurt. The weight of memory was heavy. But it didn't have to remain that way. And pushing forward to the future did not disrespect the past. His friends were moving on. They kept walking, one foot in front of the other, looking to new possibilities with joy.

So should he.

And in all the steps he took, he would take her with him. They would walk and live life. Maybe not together, physically, but always in heart. And he would make new decisions, always with her in mind, but never as an excuse to block an open door.

...He promised.

"To Matsue!" Shuu roared.

Ryo nodded, a determination in his spirit, despite the silliness of his friend.

 _Let's go to Matsue...Luna_.


	13. Damage

Author's Notes: Ack. I'm conflicted with this one. Overall I like the piece, though the scene I had in mind while writing it never actually made it into the final draft of the fic. I just couldn't find place to use what it was that inspired the story, so while I'm pleased with the end result, I sort of feel I defeated my own purpose in writing it the way I did. I guess I'll keep it in the back of my mind, and save it for a (potentially) future plot. (Or maybe leave it in my head as part of a private YST fic. I do that sometimes.)

Not much to say here. Timeframe is Season 1 (unusual for me), so the characters are super young and the relationship dynamic pretty basic. Everyone is still sort of "getting used" to one another, so there's more "talking out loud" than there is actual "talking to." I tried to stick to the simplified personas portrayed in the original season, before war took its toll, maturity set in, etc.

Also, I have no idea why, but I like the idea of Shin's armor turning different shades of blue depending on the amount of water he's consumed. That's not a canonical thing (that I know of). But I liked the idea and how it read in the fic. Hope you guys like it too.

(Sidenote: Has anyone ever wondered why SEIJI gets stuck babysitting Nasuti and Jun for the entirety of Season 1? Like, he always has either one or both. With zero help from the other FOUR TROOPERS who run off to fight Masho in pairs and still get their butts handed to them. Has no one asked this question but me? I'm curious.)

12-second Japanese:

 _Kakipi / kaki no tane_ \- One in the same...sort of. Kaki no tane are small, crescent-shaped fragments of soy-flavored rice crisps. Throw peanuts into the mix and you get Kakipi. A common snack found in Japan. Often served in bars.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 13:  
Damage**

Stupid youja.

The day had started _off_ well enough. The gang was enjoying a short and well-earned reprieve from fighting the forces of the Youjakai. The city was in shambles, and conveniences were limited with no power or running water. But the simple act of sheathing a sword or powering down to sub-armor were luxuries none of them were taking for granted. A sheathed sword and an unarmored man meant, for those few passing moments at least, peace.

Shuu was cracking jokes and popping Kakipi in his mouth that he'd swiped from the stock shelves of a local bar. Every few passes of the bag he'd pick one out and flick it at Byakuen, who effortlessly caught—and chomped—the scrumptious snack. Ryo regaled tales of soccer victory to an awe-stricken Jun, while Shin chugged an unfortunately lukewarm liter of bottled water. (Nasuti quietly wondered if his sub-armor wasn't mysteriously bluer as a result, but ultimately chalked it up to a trick of the light.) Not wanting to chuck it aside, even amidst the _disastrous_ remains of the city, Shin carried the emptied reservoir in hand, eyes scanning the streets for any still-standing trash receptacles or recycle bins. He eventually found one overturned in a storefront window, and deposited the bottle in kind. Touma stared off into space, a look of intense study—or hunger?—on his face. (It was hard to tell if he was transfixed by the sky, or formulating a plan for stealing one of Shuu's peanuts.) Seiji brought up the rear, disinterested in the merriment of the others. His eyes darted here and there, uncomfortable and ever-suspicious of a threat.

Things carried on that way for a while. The twists and turns of the roadways were clear—barring a few overturned buildings and some broken glass—and they had food, provisions, and non-working but available toilets for everyday needs and concerns. It was by no means the ideal—the ideal being the Youjakai having never invaded in the first place—but all things considered, the circumstances could have been a _lot_ worse. Nasuti in particular was grateful for the ease of access to grocers and convenience stores, in the event of any "female emergencies."

Indeed, if not for the soul-shattering silence, the ominous clouds looming overhead, and the fact that every resident of the city had been taken captive by the Youjakai, you could have almost mistaken their party as a group of friends taking a leisurely stroll through downtown.

Shuu had worked his way through the entire bag of kaki no tane when Touma spotted a youja spear cutting through the air at breakneck speed.

"Incoming!"

On immediate alert and with a hastened every-which-way disperse, the malevolent spear landed, thumbtacking itself in the concrete closest to Shin, but nonetheless missing its mark. Several more spears followed suit, whooshing in at them from all sides.

"We need to _move_!" Seiji barked, his arms hovering protectively over Nasuti and Jun as his eyes zipped from one fallen spearhead to the next.

"Move _where_? We're out in the friggin' open!"

In their aimless patrol, the boys and company had meandered dead-center into the parking lot of an enormous mall. Row after endless row of concrete and inoperative cars stretched in either direction, their present position a dangerous stretch from anything even remotely resembling cover.

"I don't care _where_. Just _move_!"

"Well what are we supposed to do? Shield ourselves inside a trunk?"

"There!" Ryo pointed towards a gas station to the north. "Let's make a run for it!"

With no time to object, the Trooper team bolted ahead, Ryo at the lead. Seiji trailed behind, having piled Nasuti and Jun onto Byakuen to better defend their rear guard. He materialized the Korin nodachi and jumped to precision-strike a lance headed straight for Touma's back. Landing on bended knee, he fell back in line with the group in their flee for safety, sword at the ready as he scanned for other potentially fatal thrusts.

With the enhanced strength of their sub-armors—and a determined point not to end up as "human skewers"—the party made short work of the trek, sighing with relief as they bolted one by one under the overhang of an Esso Oil. They weren't out of the woods, by any stretch, but it did give them a better position from which to fend off the aerial assault. Nasuti and Jun stayed mounted atop Byakuen's back, the Troopers forming a protective circle around them.

"I don't mean to be a downer," Touma started, his voice stern, "but this is a _gas_ station."

"Astute observation." Shuu rolled his eyes.

Shin sighed, shaking his head. "Gas is _flammable_ , Shuu."

"Gasoline _vapor_ is flammable," Touma corrected. "Flammable with a low explosive limit of one point four percent."

"What does _that_ mean?" Jun inquired innocently.

The bearer of Tenku flashed Jun a solemn look. "It means one small spark and spears will be the least of our concerns."

"Okay you guys," Shuu pointed to Seiji and Ryo, thumbing his hand to the streets. "Get out."

Nasuti glared and Byakuen growled at the erroneously timed joke.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Poor taste," Shuu apologized with a wave.

Seiji ignored the bantering, standing closest to the edge to peer off into the distance.

"They've stopped."

"Good news for us!"

Ryo and Touma exchanged looks, a feeling of uneasiness swirling in the confines of the station square. Nasuti held Jun close, her fingers massaging Byakuen's fur. But whether to steady the tiger or the rapid beating of her own heart, she wasn't sure. The whole place was eerily still. None of the Troopers liked it.

Suddenly, a vibration in the ground and a dull roar from the direction of the mall pulled everyone's attention to the parking lot they'd left behind. Stalking towards them in attack formation was a sizeable regiment of youja soldiers, weaponry in hand and armor dark as they marched ahead with vicious and single-minded intent—to kill.

"God, they're annoying."

He got resounding nods from all around, save for Seiji, who countered Touma's remark with an observation of respect.

"They're well-armed and well-trained," Seiji near-smirked. "I wouldn't be surprised if they'd been lying in wait for the prime opportunity to ambush us."

Shaking his head, the look on Shuu's face screamed "unbelievable." "Can we _not_ bolster the enemy, please?"

"What do you guys think?" Ryo asked, probing for options as he fell into "unofficial leader" mode.

"We can take 'em," Touma offered confidently.

"We'll need to watch out for those spears, though."

Good ol', level-headed Shin.

Seiji was already in position with the Korin nodachi raised. The look on his face spoke for itself.

"Well Shuu?" Ryo shot his muscled friend a smile. "What do you say?"

Shuu looked down, the crumpled remains of his kaki no tane wrapping bunched lifelessly inside his palm.

"I should have grabbed another bag of those nuts."

Given the chance, the group would have groaned, but Seiji caught sight of yet another spear sailing straight for Esso Oil.

"Look out!"

The lance landed with a whack, missing the group entirely and instead landing on the far side of a station pump.

"Dude!" Shuu sniggered. "Talk about crap aim!"

Seiji leaned his head out and over for a better look. "Maybe not."

The lance might have missed the team, but it hit dead-on its intended target. There, a yellowish liquid spilled out onto the ground and pooled over and around the remaining pumps.

"It pierced the gas line!"

Seiji backed away instantly, fearful of the implications. "Guys, I think…"

"Heads up!"

High overhead, arching through the sky like a comet, was an emblazoned arrow, following the same course as the wayward lance before it…

"Move! Move! Move!"

In a panicked rush, the Troopers vacated their makeshift fort. Five boys and a white tiger—two pulse-pounding civilians in tow—scurried into the open streets, Shuu tossing the Kakipi wrapping over and behind his head as they scrambled to put distance between themselves and the frightening flame. As the arrow made contact with the gas, a spark ignited, sending tower tall wisps shooting into the air, tips flicking violently as the station, pumps, and discarded vehicles all blew to smithereens.

Ryo, the quickest, was furthest out of harm's way first, with Shin and Touma not far behind. Byakuen trotted to a stop alongside his companions, with Shuu and Seiji—yet again—falling in last place. They heaved sighs of release as the fire roared, particles of debris here and there from the force of the explosion. The Esso Oil sign, still miraculously intact, smoldered a bit at the front of the property lot, before crashing to the ground, the attaching pole timbering back into the oranged glow like a chopped tree.

"Wow," Shuu breathed, his hands on his knees as he bent over in relief. "That sucked."

"...And it's about to get suckier."

Shuu lifted his eyes and followed their "leader's" gaze to a row of youja soldiers blocking the path ahead. They stood at attention, shields and spears at the ready, the insides of their helmets a faceless and blackened void.

"Seriously?"

The same regiment of troops from the mall flanked them from the left, and the way they came was barred with violent fire. A large building stood to their right, an office space likely, several stories high with a towering quality that made the whole world seem small. And the world felt very small indeed, with a powerful and merciless threat closing in on them from almost every side.

It was not, how you say, an _impossible_ fight; but the odds were clearly stacked against them.

"Send Byakuen away."

It was both a plea and command to his raven-haired friend, Seiji's mind first and foremost on protecting their civilian charges.

Ryo nodded his consent, his eyes speaking for him as he silently instructed Byakuen to run. The tiger was far from afraid, but growled his understanding. He sniffed once, giving the fighting "men" a parting whine, before turning his body in the direction of their one clear path. Nasuti turned her body to face them as they galloped away, mouthing a "Be careful!" as her fingers clung to Byakuen's fur for dear life.

With their biggest liability removed, the Troopers were free to fight on equal terms.

"You guys ready?"

The remaining four nodded. They were through running.

...Stupid youja. Always there to ruin a perfectly good day.


	14. Midnight Party

Author's Notes: I'll admit, I've been avoiding this particular prompt. I was worried with how easily I could fall into writing something "expected," because of the theme. Clearly, a "Midnight Party" has a sexual connotation, which I wanted to steer clear of due to the, again, predictable nature of the theme. I also swore out any "New Year" or "The Clock Strikes Twelve" kind of stories because of, again, predictability (ringing in the New Year bit, and the tired association between midnight and ghosts/horror). What I wanted was to write something where 12:00 wasn't the so-obvious climax of the fic.

Of course, the prompt is revealed at the start of the story (seeing as it's the title), so it's not as though you don't have a general idea of what the all-encompassing theme of the story is. I just hope that the avenue I take is perhaps a little less traveled than some of the other "Midnight Party" prompts you've seen. Especially if most of what you've read is in any way inspired by the YST song, "Midnight Party" (which is probably what comes to mind first for any fan of the show).

Most of my YST stories take place during the Gaiden timeframe, when the boys are roughly sixteen-years-old. This story deviates in that it takes place a little earlier in the YST timeline, when the boys—excluding Shin, who is one year older—are still fifteen. And because of what happens in the story, the Troopers are post-Youjakai, meaning it's the end of the TV series, but prior to Seiji's kidnapping in New York. As a result, the relationships are a tad "newer" in this fic, some of the interactions younger, less developed than what you might see in my "later" prompts. It might not seem like much time passes between the end of the TV series and Gaiden, but a lot can change in a few months/a year, especially when you're being tortured, shot at, and basically fighting for your life.

Oh, and this is the first of my themefics where ALL the Troopers are involved, at the same time (versus the tiny flashes you might see in my more character-specific works). Each Trooper (and Nasuti) has a role to play in this fic. Which I thought appropriate, seeing as "party" is in fact plural, and thus, focusing on a single character would make zero sense.

One more thing. The baseball bits are a dedication/tribute to my father and brothers, who love and adore baseball and spend most of March through August traveling back and forth from Cincinnati to watch the Reds. I researched Japanese ball online in order to accurately represent Nippon Professional Baseball, in particular team and stadium names and to ensure the Japanese baseball season matches the baseball season in the US (it does). Other factoids come from my living in a baseball family and watching their interactions with each other at the games (and seeing how the language of sports is universal, I figured the Japanese would probably be much the same).

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 14:  
Midnight Party**

For baseball enthusiasts, March was the month of everything. Because March marked the beginning of the Nippon Professional Baseball season in Japan. Fans of all shapes, sizes, and prefectures rallied together to cheer their favorite teams in the nation's most popular and televised sport.

This year, Touma's favorite team, the Henshin Tigers, were playing opening game against longtime rivals—and Touma's most hated team—the Yomiuri Giants. Heralded as the "New York Yankees of Japan," the Yomiuri Giants' games were the most anticipated games of the baseball year.

...Well, in Touma's eyes, anyway.

His butt clenching the far edges of his seat, Touma sat, knees spread and face stern with competitive frenzy as the Giants pitched their final strike of the eighth inning.

"My God man! Did you see that play? What is the coach thinking? Why is it the Tigers are the only team in professional baseball with a crap bullpen? Unbelievable!"

Ryo and Shuu exchanged looks. They'd heard this rant before, during every game the Giants had played against the Henshin Tigers. The Tigers were Touma's favorite team, and had been since Touma first discovered baseball. But as much as he loved the team, they never seemed to play to suit. Win or lose, the Tigers had the worst everything in the history of professional ball—and yet, were simultaneously the greatest team to ever grace the grounds of the Tokyo Dome Stadium.

Ryo didn't quite understand it, and neither did Shuu. Neither did any of the Troopers, to be frank. But it was the most jazzed Touma ever got, about anything, and they reasoned it was something only a true sports fan could appreciate. Ryo had played soccer for years, and most of the guys enjoyed baseball on a recreational level. But only Touma possessed the fanaticism of a devoted fan.

Knowing this, Nasuti had invited the gang over to her house for opening game. Nasuti wasn't much of a sports nut, and none of the guys, save Touma, would lose sleep over missing the Tigers play. But it'd been a while since the group of them had hung out together as friends. There was plenty for the boys to preoccupy themselves with, even if they didn't watch the game.

"Stop fidgeting with your hat and throw the fucking ball."

Needless to say, the language took on a colorful flair when the Tigers played, so Nasuti had made a point not to invite Jun.

"Ay-yah! I'll be in my senior year of college before he throws the first pitch!"

Shuu sniggered from his post on the loveseat, watching Touma's heels rub bare spots into the living room carpet. Normally, Shuu was whiny and impatient in cards, but his amusement with Touma's dramatical outcries kept him entertained between turns. Shin, oblivious to Touma, focused feverishly on the pair of Kings in his left hand. Shin was a beast when it came to cards; something about the competitive play brought out the oni in him. Even Nasuti was shooed away when she circled the room with a bowl of snacks. Nothing short of a typhoon or an attack by the Youjakai would shake his resolve.

Nasuti sighed then, bending down to scratch behind Bykauen's ears. He purred at the touch of her soft hands, wagging his tail in appreciative content. There wasn't room enough for Byakuen on the couch—nor was Nasuti fond of tiger fur on her grandfather's furniture—and sitting too close to Touma during gametime was unanimously considered a dumb idea. It was for that reason Ryo had forsaken the space next to Touma and seated himself on the floor with his "pet." He leaned against the base of the couch, stroking Byakuen's ears and back. He flashed Nasuti a warm smile, reaching inside the snack bowl for some chips.

"Thanks, Nasuti."

Nasuti mirrored his smile, then proceeded to carefully tip-toe over and around the big cat to avoid passing in front of the TV. She was in no mood to get her head ripped off tonight.

When she returned to the kitchen, Seiji was in the same spot she'd left him, flipping through a fashion periodical on the kitchen counter. He leaned on one elbow with a bored expression, his pale chin resting lazily in his right hand. Clad only in black, he was the living embodiment of a fashion model, materialized from the pages of the magazine. It never ceased to amaze Nasuti how isolated he could become, even in a big group. He loved his friends, and at the start of the evening had participated in watching the game. But Seiji preferred F1 racing to baseball, and within minutes had reached wits end with Touma's zeal. He'd meandered over to stare out the window, turning down the offer to play cards with Shin and Shuu. Before long, he'd wandered into the kitchen to watch Nasuti prepare food and drinks.

He'd seemed happier then, the boys forgotten. Though Nasuti noted that Seiji was probably more used to hanging around women than men.

"What, what, what was THAT? Oh my—I bet he couldn't hit a punching bag if it was dangling in front of his face!"

Seiji's expression turned from bored to disgusted as Touma's wails wafted through the house.

"He is so annoying."

Nasuti giggled. She wondered how it was he had patience to instruct kendo when he had so little patience for other people.

"It's hard to fault his enthusiasm."

Seiji "humphed."

"Maybe," Nasuti started innocently, slicing an apple along the cutting board, "we could watch the races sometime. Then it could be you shouting at the television while Touma and the boys play cards."

"If that's the case, why invite them at all?"

Nasuti halted her chopping then, the thwack of knife against wood silenced in lieu of her shock. Her relationship with Seiji had always hovered somewhere between "friends" and..."something else," but the group had always treated it as a sort of "unknown, known." There were assumptions and perhaps the stifled snigger, but nothing in the open and always with the understanding that whatever evidence they saw, they didn't _really_ see. And yet there, at the kitchen counter, this fifteen-year-old boy had openly suggested they spend an evening together. In her house. _Alone._

Seiji flipped through to the final page of the magazine and sighed, his gaze wandering along the walls and cupboards for a more interesting distraction. Nasuti, recovered, realized—with a bit more regret than she cared to admit—that Seiji had failed to grasp the full implication of his words. She resumed her chopping, hoping he would let the conversation rest.

Thankfully, a muffled arguing from the living room gave Nasuti the excuse she needed to switch topics.

"Sounds like Shin and Shuu are at it now."

"Poker has that effect on Shin," Seiji commented idly. "I think the cards are laced with something he's allergic to."

"What about you, Seiji?" she questioned fondly. "What of the fierce warrior I've come to expect? What of your ruthless resolve to triumph over your adversaries?"

"It's _cards_ , Nasuti," his tone suggesting the obvious. "They're not battling for the fate of the free world."

He reached over then, swiping an apple slice from beneath her knife.

"And I do not _shout_ at the television."

Nasuti felt the heat rise in her face, becoming suddenly enraged at his snippy tone. All of the boys had their moments—they were teenagers, after all—but Seiji's she had zero patience for. And she steadfastly refused to explore the reasons why.

The scolding was a mere millisecond from her tongue, but a cry from the living room squashed her ire.

"Shin? SHIN!"

Alarmed and with only a glance between them, Seiji and Nasuti stormed into the living room. Lying crumpled on the floor by the loveseat was Shin—Shuu, Ryo, and Touma huddled around him. Byakuen whimpered at their side, pacing around the trio, worry evident in his feline eyes.

"Someone call an ambulance, quick!"

With lightning response, Seiji raced back into the kitchen, feverishly dialing 1-1-9.

Swallowing her shock, Nasuti rushed forward, placing a hand on Shin's warm and clammy brow.

"What happened?"

Shuu shook his head, the color depleted from his face. "I-I'm not sure. We were screwin' around, you know? Razzing each other about the game. Giving each other a hard time, like we always do." Shuu swallowed hard, his face growing paler, if that was possible. "Then bam! He went down like a ton of bricks."

"I wondered if he was feeling bad," Ryo offered guiltily. "He kept rubbing his stomach. I just figured it was nausea, or cramps."

"I've sure as hell never collapsed from cramps!" Shuu shouted angrily.

"It's alright, Shuu," Nasuti soothed. "Seiji's called the paramedics. They'll know what to do."

Right on cue, Seiji reappeared, his features composed, but concerned. "The ambulance is on its way."

It was just a little past ten o'clock when the hospital attendant rounded the corner of Tokyo Medical University, a stack of freshly warmed blankets in hand. Seiji collected two, one for himself, and the other he draped over Nasuti's trembling shoulders. They hadn't noticed the cold when they'd first arrived. They'd all been too preoccupied with finding Shin. His appendix had ruptured, as it turned out, and within minutes was admitted to surgery for an immediate appendectomy. The doctor had met with the group beforehand, explaining what had happened and asking if Shin was allergic to penicillin. None of them had the first clue, of course, and being as Shin was from Yamaguchi, the hospital did not have his medical records on file. Luckily, Shuu knew Shin's home number, but didn't feel collected enough to phone his mother. Ryo took it upon himself to make the call, explaining the situation to Shin's mom and taking down the name and number of their primary care physician for the hospital nurse. The doctor assured Shin's mother he was in good hands, that appendectomies were common procedures, and that she would be informed the second the operation was done. Guilt at the forefront, Ryo stayed on the line with Shin's mother for twenty minutes, assuring and reassuring that he himself would see to it that Shin received the finest care.

Some fifteen minutes later, the group had retired to the waiting area, the events of the evening like a boulder crushing their lungs. With nothing to do but wait, it wasn't long before Nasuti was rubbing her arms, her flesh chilled in the frosty hospital air. Shuu and Ryo soon followed suit, while Touma made a crabby remark about hospitals and their obsession with the "fucking A/C." Seiji hadn't noticed the cold, but approached the desk nurse and politely requested some blankets for he and his friends. The awestruck nurse quickly obliged, asking Seiji personally if there was anything further he would need. Flustered by her flirtatious tone, Seiji asked if there were coffee or tea available for his "rattled girlfriend," hoping the fib would dissolve the nurse's amorous attentions. The nurse's face fell at his words, and Seiji smiled inwardly at his success.

The heat of the blanket eased the tension in her neck, and she watched, with a sick satisfaction as the pretty nurse stared wistfully after Seiji, whose hands had lingered needlessly around Nasuti's arms.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mmmh," she hummed, blaming the melting she felt on the blanket and not his touch.

"Can you believe the operation takes two hours?" Shuu huffed. Patience had never been one of Kongou's strong points.

"At least it's something treatable. And common," Ryo offered encouragingly.

"Not just common. It's the number one diagnosis for emergency admittance among young adults. 1 in 15 will develop appendicitis in their lifetime. ...Or was it 1 in 10?"

Shuu rolled his eyes, muttering something about Touma being a "walking statistic."

"I just wish there was something I could do for his mother. You should have heard her on the phone. So weak and worried..." Ryo sighed miserably, the mother's feelings as real to him as if they were his very own. "She must feel so helpless, so far away. I feel helpless and I'm right here!"

"There's no point to it, Ryo," Touma's logical mind processed. "She's as useful to him home as she is here. A thousand miles away and the outcome's all the same."

Shuu's face hardened.

"And unless you have a medical degree we're not aware of, there's no tangible value in your being here either. Or any of us, for that matter."

"You stupid prick!"

All at once, the room was at its feet.

Shuu stood to fight, Touma stood to defend, and Ryo stood to make peace. Seiji had jumped into action at Shuu's words and Nasuti's gasp, placing himself at the center of Touma, Ryo, and Shuu.

"That's enough."

But Shuu carried on, his body erect as he glared daggers through Seiji and into Touma's face.

"All you care about is that fucking ballgame!"

"I said _enough_." Seiji's words were harder then, more direct.

"Seiji's right," Ryo interjected. "Shin's _condition_ ," his voice cracked a little at the word, "has put us all on edge. Here or there, fighting amongst ourselves is the last thing Shin would want right now."

Shin's love of peace seemed to quell the fire, and while Shuu's eyes still shone with rage, he backed off and settled down into his seat. Touma rattled something about grabbing snacks from the vending machine, removing himself from the room entirely. Ryo left to get some air, claustrophobic from being cooped up inside. Seiji took his place next to Nasuti, wishing like hell he had a practice dummy to stab. And Nasuti shrunk further into her blanket, feeling exhausted, helpless, and cold.

"Can you believe him?" Shuu muttered more to himself than anyone.

"Logic is Touma's way," Seiji explained matter-of-factly. "He's tactless, not heartless."

Shuu said nothing.

"And you're upset because your last words with Shin were words of anger."

"Damn it, Seiji—!" Shuu rose to his feet again.

"Shin will be _fine_ ," Seiji's steely face was as resolved as the declaration in his words. "And you can shake your fists at me all you want and it still won't lessen the anger you feel for yourself."

Seiji's eyes stared pointedly and fearlessly into Shuu's, sympathizing with his plight while simultaneously daring him to act a fool. The bearer of Kongou regarded the bearer of Korin, his body poised calmly in his seat with one leg crossed over the other. Seiji could be as irritating as Touma, if not more so, and yet his body language told Shuu he understood in ways his words could not express.

Seiji's comforts were well-masked, but they were there.

He stared Seiji down a second more, before releasing a deflated exhale into the air and plopping himself defeatedly in his chair. His expression softened, looking all at once very tired, bags of strain and stress forming under his eyes. Nasuti offered him a sweet, judgeless smile, but Shuu was too emotionally exhausted to reciprocate. So she instead turned her gesture to Seiji, a fondness she was finally willing to admit churning deep within. Unlike Shuu, Seiji returned her smile, small pieces of his boyhood chipping away to reveal the man that bit by bit was breaking loose. It was the frist time that night they'd looked at one another and actually seen the other person.

"I'm sorry, for my behavior. Earlier, at the house?" Seiji ducked his head to meet hers, his clear eyes mirroring the apology in his voice.

Despite their close proximity, Nasuti held her ground, forcing herself to meet his gaze. But her body betrayed her as the heat rose to her cheeks. "It's not important, Seiji," she dismissed with a bashful laugh. "All that matters is we're here together for when Shin comes to."

Seiji's smile widened then, his features uncharacteristically happy. "I like the sound of that."

With at least one of the day's hurts repaired, the trio fell into a noticeably lighter silence. Nasuti shivered a little less, and Shuu kept his butt firmly rooted in his chair. Even when Touma and Ryo returned, the peace maintained. Touma munched on a candy bar and some coke, and Ryo wrapped himself in a blanket, absently wondering how Byakuen was fairing all alone, back at the house.

The next hour and a half was more of the same, with Shuu staring pensively into the floor tiles and Nasuti snuggled close to Seiji, her legs drawn up under her in the seat. Ryo had gotten up once or twice to phone Shin's mom, and Touma had spent more than 1200 yen in vending snacks.

They were all bundled in blankets by the time the doctor returned from surgery. Expectantly, Shuu was the first to his feet.

"Doctor, how—"

"He's fine. Not a complication one."

The gang let out a collective breath of relief. As cold and heavy as the room had seemed at the start, was how light and temperate the room seemed then, with the news that their friend was not only treated, but perfectly okay. And their friend being okay, meant that they'd be okay too.

"Can we see him?" Shuu pleaded, the anxiety like an electrical current in his veins.

The doctor straightened his spectacles, pondering the request. "Well, I suppose. But just one of you, for the moment. He's just coming out of anesthesia, so he's a little groggy."

Shuu turned wildly to face the others, but the looks that greeted him all read the same.

"Go ahead, Shuu," Ryo urged with a grin. "We'll be here when you get back."

Shuu ducked his head, both grateful and embarrassed. He fidgeted a little, before turning to leave. He was two steps towards Recovery before he stopped, whipping his body around to stare straight into Touma's starry blue eyes.

"Hey, man—"

"It's cool, bro."

A silent but knowing smile passed between them. It said everything and nothing, erasing every hurt, every angry word until all that was left was a friend.

And just like that, they were whole again.

Their differences resolved, Shuu once again turned to leave, off to make right the last and final upset of the night.

"Can you believe it's nearly midnight?" Nasuti yawned, the blanket pooling at her feet as she stretched.

"Yeah," Touma sighed, rubbing his candy-stuffed stomach. "Guess I'll have to steal the sports page from tomorrow's paper. I don't even know if the Tigers won!"

"I should call Shin's mother," Ryo added.

"Assuming she hasn't frantically hitchhiked a ride here," Nasuti joked.

"At least Shin has something to look forward to once he's released."

A curious pause filled the air. Nasuti, Ryo, and Touma exchanged puzzled glances, their attentions now to Seiji, a coy and devious smirk splayed across his lips.

"Something you want to share there, buddy?" Touma probed.

Seiji snickered. "It's just, I happened to catch a glimpse of Shin and Shuu's playing cards in our mad dash out the back door."

"Oh?" Ryo quirked his brow.

Seiji snickered again. "Yeah. Shuu lost."


	15. Shinjuku

Author's Notes: This installment is a tad unorthodox. My initial plan for the prompt was a "slice of life" featuring the Troopers spending a day in the city of Shinjuku. But I kind of felt I'd devoted ENOUGH of my themefic prompts to discussing the guys—their interactions, their daily lives—and that I'd limited my thinking to just "the obvious choice." And as I've made mention of in my other ANs, my goal with YST 20 is to be diverse.

I switched gears and came up with this. The idea here is "Shinjuku" depicted as a "character" unto itself (in a sense). It's not very long, nor overly descript. It doesn't even require much (or any) of an understanding of the show. It's not super exciting, or even all that well written, I'll admit. But I do like the idea of giving Shinjuku (the central location/focus of the first two seasons of the series) its own little fifteen (more like five) minutes of fame.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 15:  
Shinjuku**

A person could eat, attend school, play the guitar, "ride the rails," and run for mayor all within the confines of the commercial and administrative metropolis of Shinjuku, Japan. Housing the northern half of the busiest railway station in the world, people of all shapes, sizes and walks of life populated its seemingly endless rows of streets, stores, and bars. Every district was in and of itself a civilization all its own. Where one walkway ended, another began, as if the city itself was an autarkic and impenetrable force, nestled safe and secure at the very nucleus of centralized Japan.

At a distance, Shinjuku was an impressive sight. Columns of skyscrapers and industrial property lined the outer edges of the ward—picturesque during the day against the backdrop of the majestic Mt. Fuji, and ethereal in the black of night, the lights of progress casting a brilliant glow over and across the city limits. The structures were tall, sturdy, metallic in color, looking for all the world like a "New York" slap-dab in the middle of Tokyo, Japan.

Up close, it was dizzying. Wave after wave of people lined its streets—mothers tugging uncooperative sons by the hand, groups of girls giggling over ice cream and Coke. Shopping malls were packed to the hilt, the lines at the registers wrapped clear to the back. Eateries were seas of napkins, chopsticks, and empty drinks, attendees squeezing between chairs to keep condiments stocked and tables wiped. The roadways roared with the honks and beeps of ongoing cars, as adults clutched children protectively amidst the frenzy of pedestrian traffic. Tourists crowded on street corners, puzzling through maps and travel guides, as couples walked arm-in-arm in dissociated bliss. Teens flocked to the movies and arcades in droves, while the men and "corporate drones" hit the Yotsuya bars. Takadanobaba was nothing but commuters and students, while musicians, actors, and "artsy" types ruled the shanty-styled clubs in the ramshackled sector of Golden Gai.

Indeed, there was something for, quite literally, everyone. The diversity of the sectors was such that nearly any and every practicality or form of entertainment could be found. Whatever a person's interest, errand, annual income, or even social preference—the city catered to them all in a neon splattering of billboards, street signs, and flashing lights.

So varied in its peoples, activities, and accommodations, and yet, the view from above was the same Tuesday, as it was Thursday, as it was Wednesday, as it was the end of the week. Each day was much of the same of the day before, and the day before that. It was frantic and fast-paced, with men and women and children all rushing here and there in a frenzied race against the clock. Rushing out to work. Rushing home to cook. Rushing off to school.

Always rushing. Always moving. Always busy.

Always something to do. Always something to buy. Always something to see. Always something to say.

The only "always" now, is the silence.


	16. Message

Author's Notes: If there was ever an OVA the fanbase _didn't_ like, it's "Message." Which is beyond me, because I for one, LOVE IT. Message may be my singular favorite "season" of all of YST, above even the 39-episode TV series. (For the record, I like Gaiden a whole lot too.) I just think it's beautiful. Even Suzunagi, for all her nauseatingly Japanese "I-must-destroy-the-world-to-save-it" bull, is a captivating work, the highlight (IMO) of the visual artistry of the OVA, most especially when she shifts from "child" to "woman." I'm not an anime buff, by any means, but I've never seen a more unique rendering of a character—in terms of costume and design—than Suzunagi.

It goes without saying you should understand, at the very least, the basic plot of Message, if you have any hopes of understanding even a trifle of what's going on in this fic. Most of it is spent reflecting on the backstory of Suzunagi, through the breakdown of her father's manuscript and how Suzunagi interprets (both correctly and incorrectly) the parallels of her own life/the world through the lines of her father's play. There's lots of symbolism, foreshadowing, hints of her relationship(s) with the Troopers, and whole heaps of references to the Christian faith. (Suzunagi is from a Christian family, FYI. Which, as a Christian myself, may lend to my partiality to Suzunagi's character and the OVA as a whole.)

As a sidenote, it's never "shown" how exactly Suzunagi's father is killed. However, the imagery of the series and _Message Encyclopedia_ make it clear he was executed by decapitation. But digging a little deeper, it wasn't uncommon in Tokugawa-run Japan to use crucifixion on those outed as Christians. And since Suzunagi/her family was Christian, I didn't see it out of the realm of possibility that he was "killed" in the same manner as the symbol of his faith (i.e. Crucifixion), as Christianity was hardly a popular religion (and still isn't) of the period/region/country/etc. So please read with the understanding that Suzunagi's father was beheaded first, and THEN hung on the cross as a sort of "insult to injury" to his death.

I'm pretty proud of how this turned out.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 16:  
Message**

 _The "Five Armored Play…"_

She flipped through the pages of the manuscript, over and over and over again.

It was all that remained of her father's life. Everything else—the theatre he had built, the wife he had loved, the child he had sired into the world—was gone, destroyed at the behest of an armor-wielding _beast_. But her father's manuscript had stood the test of time, wrinkled but intact as together she and "Papa" weathered the wretches of the afterlife. Suzunagi could sense his presence in the pages of the play—feel him in the creases of parchment, smell him in the strokes of ink. He had poured his heart and soul into the words, and a dream of a world freed from the cycle of violence, suffering, and death. And through it was his plan, his purpose, his intent.

 _A shadow fell upon the land, leaving darkness and decay in its wake..._

If only her father had known the prophetic nature of his creation, of the foreshadowing of fate in the lines he penned. On the surface, it was a pleasant fiction. But the "shadow" he envisioned was no mere character in a play. That "shadow" was real, and it had rained vengeance upon their family, a hateful reality of the evils of the world and an ever-present reminder of the wickedness that had destroyed all she held dear. Like the hateful devil of her faith, the "shadow" pierced their lives with fiery darts. Only this fiery dart could not be quenched. They had no shield. They had no protection. And like wood put to the flame, _they burned_.

 _Five brave men took up arms, bearing mystical armors of light..._

Suzunagi knew of "armors."

She had watched "armor" carry off her father. She'd seen "armor" fix him to a cross. She'd stood, helpless, as "armor" stuck her father's flesh with swords and spears, mocking his faith. She'd shivered in fear as "armor" raised charges against them. She'd cried as "armor" threw their family Bible in the dirt. She'd stared into the sleeves of her mother's kimono as "armor" shouted "Treason!" and "Traitor!" into the night. And amidst her mother's tears, her brave husband crucified in shame, she'd heard "armor's" cruel laugh.

To "armor," the torturing of a man was little more than a game. For "armor," life was worthless.

Suzunagi knew all too well the "bravery" of "armor." She knew for what cause "armor" stood to "defend." She understood the intent of "armor" taking up sword and shield. ...Oh yes. _She knew._ She knew it day after day after year after century. And it had replayed in her mind's eye hundreds of thousands of times over...and over. And the fires of that fateful day could not compare to the furious fire of her hate.

 _Separate, it was not enough. But through combined strength, they could endure…_

Strength in numbers. Even for a child, the concept was simple. Five was better than four. Four was greater than three. The evil that had plagued her home was a singular force comprised of many. Wars too were won in such ways. She had seen it so through the decades: Two forces, in opposition, standing toe-to-toe, face-to-face, for the sake of whatever or whomever was perceived just. The stronger and more numerous force—typically—emerged the victor. And the weaker and less plenteous was crushed.

Evil in particular was at its most threatening in groups. But if those groups could be scaled down…

Even the weakest could withstand a powerful foe, because of the might and superiority of a comrade-at-arms. It didn't matter if one fell short, because another was there to pick up the slack. In numbers, those vulnerabilities were covered, protected, less obvious. But alone, a weakness was easily exploited. And like the runt of a litter, it was just waiting to be culled.

 _They went from village to village, province to province, purging all manner of evil from the realm..._

It was a rather eloquent way to describe selective killing. But her father had always had a certain way—a charm, if you would—with words. There was certainly no shortage of "purging" that day, when the "armor" arrived and razed their homestead to the ground. The "armor" had made doubly sure that nothing, not the man nor the life he'd built, was left. Not so much as a scrap had been spared. The "armor" had moved swift, destroying all that it touched, leaving only smoke and ash and fiery embers glowing against the midnight sky.

Well, not _everything_ that day died. One crucial piece of their former existence remained.

The manuscript.

And within it was Suzunagi's teacher, comforter, and only friend.

Her eyes pored over the lines once more, igniting with lightning and fury at the word "evil."

Bah! "Armor" was the only "evil" present that day! Her parents had been the righteousness of God, in whom there was nothing false! They spoke out for the helpless. They tithed, in accordance with the Scriptures. And in death, they stood blameless before the Lord. And yet, the "armor" in all its _worldly_ judgment, condemned them both. It judged them unworthy of life. But "armor" was the true "evil." It was the unclean thing defiling the earth!

Suzunagi cried at the memory of her genteel mother. She wept at the recollection of her tall and beautiful father. The very concept of "evil" had been foreign to her, up until the arrival of "armor" and its campaign to "purge" that which did not suit its nefarious intent.

...But no longer.

She had been caught off her guard before. But this time, _this time_ the tables were turned, and the "armor" would be that which was "purged."

 _Peace restored, the five youths stepped down, relinquishing their armors of light..._

Peace. Magnificent and elusive peace! She had spent the better part of her two-hundred years _desperate_ to obtain it. And yet, it had eluded her at every turn. For all the peace she sought, only isolation and despair were to be found. She had enjoyed peace once, long ago in the spacious halls of their theatre house, in the clanking of the bells as she played in the shade of the sakura trees. She had enjoyed peace in the happy laughter of her mother, the strong arms of her father. She had enjoyed it, without knowing she had it.

There was no laughter now. There were no arms to comfort her distress.

She knew now that peace was an illusion—a temporary bandage at best, an unreachable objective at worst. It was an illusion that would only continue to deceive, hurt, and disappoint. It would shatter the hopes and dreams of millions, as it had her, for as long as it was allowed to exist. Peace, _true_ peace, was only to be found in perfect sleep, in the absolute destruction of life. For if there was nothing, there could _be_ nothing.

Peace had been stolen from her. But that which was taken she would give again. She would give it, as a gift. She would remove "armor" from the world. She would cleanse the earth of suffering and pain. She would act out the last "Will and Testament" of her father. She would see to it that mankind received peace!

A little girl, Suzunagi clutched her "Papa." The pages shuffled under the force of her grip, wet with tears as she cried, howling for "Mama."

And as suffering turned to rage, the woman Suzunagi appeared, flames flicking the air around her as she held the manuscript high, ink blazened with red.

"Come, _Papa_." The fire crackled and spit. "Let us write a _new_ ending for your play…"

The pleas of the manuscript fell on deaf ears.


	17. Lie

Author's Notes: I devoted Prompt 16 to OVA "Message." This prompt focuses on OVA "Kikoutei." Seems more appropriate to have written something KD-related first, but...oh well. That's how the themefics fall. xD

Let's see… I don't have much to say (for once!). This one is pretty straight-forward. No need to research or pull out the old DVDs, so long as you know the basic premise of the KD OVA. I should note that Kikoutei is my least-liked of the OVAs, so there might be a tad less attention to detail here than in my other OVA-centric fics (especially the Message ones, my personal fave of the three). Subject matter here is pretty "broad strokes."

Oh! A couple things. I do make mention of the African trickster god, the "Hare." The rabbit, in African folklore, is typically considered a god of mischief, which I make quick reference to in the fic. Also, "ugali" (maize porridge) and "mshikaki" (marinated beef) are typical foods of mainland Tanzania. "Chapati" is a type of bread. I have no clue if these are something a remote tribe of Africa would actually eat, but they sounded feasible, so that's what I chose. Also, I assumed, despite being priestess of the Black Kikoutei, that Naria would be raised more or less like any other woman of their tribe. Please bear with me, as I have clearly never been to Japan, Africa, or even much outside my own state. -_-;

I forgot to mention this in earlier ANs, but all my OVA-related stories are dedicated "specifically" to the wonderfully talented and unfathomably awesome gals of Team Ronin. (And those girls know who they are. ^.~)

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 17:  
Lie**

They'd played together as children.

Barefoot and free they'd run, under the hot Tanzanian sun, with no thought or care to the existence of an "outside world." The world was grass. The world was earth. The world was the breath and light that passed between them. And she'd loved him, even then.

The race was no contest.

She knew from the onset that she would lose.

But it wasn't a matter of winning. It wasn't really about the game.

He was faster, stronger, taller, bigger. He was power personified. The muscles in his arm were taut, the calves of his legs defined, even then. He had been a warrior from birth. He needed not even a fraction of his full might to best her.

Curiously, he'd often lose.

"You've grown strong, Naria," he'd say. "I can hardly keep stride."

It was a lie. And they both knew it.

She'd been reared, despite her status, as any other of their tribe. Tauragi women cooked, cleaned, sewed, bore young. They learned dance and crafting, jewel-making and song. It was the way of the Tauragi. There was great honor and pride in the traditions of their clan.

She'd prepared ugali and mshikaki to celebrate his receiving a third spear. The first spear was given in training, and the second with the warrior's fifth successful hunt. The third spear was given as a sign that the warrior had bested a fellow tribesman in strength. Mukara was young, but already he had proven himself an asset to the village. The chieftain raised Mukara's hand with a shout, thrusting the third spear into his palm and brushing a stroke of blue paint across his chest. It was an evening of great joy.

The festivities had died down when Naria saw fit to bring the food. There were some years between them, and she'd lacked confidence in her ability stacked alongside the other girls. So she'd waited until the crowd had thinned to present her tribute for his success.

He'd tilted his head in appreciation for the gift, but as he dipped the chapati into the maize, it'd hit Naria that she had forgotten to season the porridge with a key spice.

The look on his face confirmed as much.

She'd held her head in shame, but before she could speak a word, Mukara thrust a finger, pointing towards the distant brush.

"Look! It's him!"

Startled, Naria whirled around, following the direction of his outstretched hand. "Who?"

"The Hare! He ran that way, carrying something between his mouth!"

She'd looked and looked, but seen nothing. After many moments, she'd turned back around to meet Mukara's focused gaze once more.

"He is a trickster, that one. Come to ruin the village fun. You must be more mindful of your surroundings, Naria."

Returning to the maize, he'd said nothing more.

The "trickster" had been to blame for her mishap. The "trickster" had "stolen" her spice.

It was a lie. And they both knew it.

At fifteen, Naria came of age.

It was not uncommon in their tribe for more than one man to vie for the affections of a young girl. In such cases, a competition was held to see which contender was brave enough and strong enough to be worthy of her hand. The competition could be anything—a test of wit, a test of brute strength. The father of the girl-in-question would choose, based on what he perceived the most desirable traits in a mate. All competitions were to prove the ability of the young man to care and provide for his young wife.

Mukara had no such competition.

Naria had been reared as a priestess of the Kuroi Kikoutei, their tribe deity. She and Mukara had been intended since birth—an arranged marriage, if you will—due to their related responsibilities in guarding and caring for the Kikoutei armor. The guardian and priestess always wed, and had for generations. They stood as symbols of their tribe, as leaders of worship and devotion to the divinity that blessed their land.

They were without say in the matter.

For her part, she was thrilled. Never, in her fifteen short years, had she resented her role as priestess, nor his as guardian. Never had she felt fear in the presence of the dark warrior. He was focused, dutiful, and...hard. But there was a kindness to Mukara behind his single-minded resolve. He cared in ways few understood, so intimidated by the severity of his brow and the seriousness with which he took his responsibilities as protector of the clan. The stern visage was simply part of what made Mukara, Mukara. She considered it an honor to stand at his side.

For Mukara's part, he had raised no objection. He was not the fussing, affectionate type, but really, few men were. Nor was he one to mingle with the clan, be they male or female, yet he had always taken time for her. At the very least, they were friends. At least, she'd liked thinking of him as a friend. In the time she'd known him, not once had he behaved untoward or unkind. And she'd grown accustomed to his mannerisms enough to say she "knew him" in a way others did not.

More than anything, he'd proven her most staunch supporter.

The Tauragi had questioned her efficacy as priestess. "Something about her," they would say, "wasn't like the priestesses of the past." Naria was different; that she knew. She had a sensing, a discernment about the world around her that had, to a degree, put her in opposition to the tribe. They thought her "strange," a "peculiarity," with perspectives and a judgment that sometimes went crosswise with their traditions and beliefs. She'd asked questions, questions most saw better _not_ to ask.

It had raised concerns.

"She sees with unclouded eyes," Mukara would say. "Give her freedom to see. Give her freedom to grow."

The village did not question Mukara, respected—and feared—as he was. But you could see it in the stares of the Tauragi. You could hear it in the hushed whispers near the village well.

Doubt. Judgment. Discontent.

Only Mukara's word kept their uncertainties at bay.

"You are young, Naria," Mukara would insist. "It is the same every cycle. They need time." Then he'd add, "Even I am questioned in my duties."

It was a lie. And they both knew it.

The Tauragi were drunk off their worship of the Kikoutei.

No longer were the people ruled by sense, or reason. The Kuroi Kikoutei was absolute. It was not hers, or anyone else's place to question what their "god" decreed.

The Tauragi were warriors, people of pride. But their strength in battle had always been in the pursuit of peace, for the protection of the weak, and for the good of mankind. Since time immemorial they had served as protectors of the land, as keepers of ancient keys, as guardians of the mysteries of the unknown world.

But now…

Now, they were little more than thugs. Brutes. Pirates.

And her dear Mukara was at the front of the pack.

Imprisoned within their village walls were men, _good_ men, fighting on behalf of the just, the pure. They stood for, before the Kuroi Kikoutei's corruption, what her betrothed would once have given his very life to defend. The darker one with the armor of flame, and the fair one with hair kissed by the sun—they had committed no wrong, and yet were punished for doing right. They had been no match for the vicious powers of Kuroi Kikoutei, her Mukara's mind clouded with battlelust and rage.

The Kuroi Kikoutei wished to fight. It desired blood. It thirsted for something...dark.

Naria had sensed something amiss with their "god," but had never dreamed it would take Mukara's will. In many ways, he was as much a captive of the Kikoutei as the young men from across the sea. Only his was a vessel yielded to the powers of evil. His was a body controlled for destruction and pain.

Gone was the Mukara she once knew. Gone was the Mukara she loved. In place of her betrothed was a villain. A stranger. No longer did they walk beneath the setting sun. No longer did they race along the African plains.

He could not be entreated. Her words carried no weight.

"Away, Naria." He had shooed her as if a fly. "It is for the good of the people. It is for the glory of the Tauragi."

It was a lie.

But only she knew it.


	18. Fight of Heart

Author's Notes: As is often the case with these YST 20 prompts, I began this story as one theme and ended up switching to another about two paragraphs in. Some of the theme prompts are harder than others (in my opinion, anyway), and the theme I ended up using for this story was one I hadn't had much luck kicking off. So I'm kinda glad the direction I originally took morphed into what it is, because I knocked out a really tough number on the list. Whether I did it justice is another matter altogether. xD

As difficult as this prompt is/was, I feel it's the most encompassing of what the series means/represents. "Fight of heart" is basically the entire point of YST, so I use that to highlight each of the nine virtues (of Bushido) by devoting a single paragraph to each of the nine yoroi bearers. Yes, the Mashou are highlighted here as well (who I feel read a little better than the Troopers, but whatever). Which is odd, because the Mashou kind of...suck. There's just not much to the characters, other than acting as foils/"big bads" for each of their Trooper counterparts. I struggled a bit with Naaza, I admit, but even his turned out pretty good. And it IS a celebration of the series, so it's only proper the Mashou be represented as well.

I did NOT, as is obvious by the paragraph count, include Lady Kayura in the prompt. Her armor/character virtue of "Ai" ("Love") is unique to the YST manga, and YST 20 is a celebration of the series anime. (More importantly, "Ai/Love" is NOT a Bushido virtue, and thus makes zero sense in the context of the series, anime or manga, but I digress.) Also, I don't actually name which character is speaking, but I think the fic reads clear enough that you can tell which virtue/philosophy is which. If not, well, I can clarify it in an update if need be. (Though if you're really stuck, just check out the Ronin Warriors character wiki. That should give you an idea the order I used. ^.~)

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 18:  
Fight of Heart**

People were fundamentally good. And he believed it. Maybe sometimes they needed a push in the right direction, but the heart didn't lie. The heart was a good thing, a meaningful thing, more than just an organ at the core of the body, but an encompassing of all that made mankind...real. Human. Alive. It was something that made man more than an animal, more than a happenstance organism flitting through space and time on a whim. It was all that a person was, believed, lived by, fought for, and died protecting. It was the deepest, most sacred part of man, connected to something greater than oneself...and to each other. And in it was all the virtues of man—the completeness of righteousness and the moral rectitude of the soul. He believed in it. And he would fight for it.

It wasn't hard, really. It was all pretty black and white simple, far as he was concerned. All you needed was a target and a fist. Punch the target and plow on through. Easy, right? In all the time spent thinking and analyzing and worrying about the "whys" and "what ifs," the problem could be done and solved. Right was right. Wrong was wrong. What was the point in over-complicating it? The shortest distance between two points was a straight line. And strength always won out in the end. A just purpose required a just means. And if you could shake things up a little in the process? Bonus.

Selfishness was at the heart of every evil. There was no good or agreeable thinking in the concept of "me." Life was an ecosystem, a complex network of interconnected hearts and spirits. A community of parents, friends, neighbors, students...innocents. There was humanity to consider, in the dual-natured walk of life. What you did, how you behaved, the words you spoke, the choices you made...factors affecting and far more reaching than a self-contained island of one. Those decisions, those words could brighten—or conversely, obfuscate—the world of every man, woman, and child in the microcosm of your existence. Even the blackest of intentions could be overcome with light, the deepest and darkest desires of the soul, eradicated with the swing of a glittery blade. (It wasn't always the enemy we fought.) And he would rise to defend it. He would overcome the shadow. He would deny even himself.

Everything would work out alright in the end. He trusted that. All of life had a way of...balancing itself, no matter the ups and downs, the good and bad, the right and wrong. Like rain that filled the ponds, so too did the world find balance after a season of drought. There was a certain...reliability in the tug and pull of nature, a dependability in the uncertainty of certainty. And in it was the very foundation of his trust. There were no real constants, after all. Motion was important. Motion was all that mattered. Stagnant water was unpleasant water. Living, flowing water brought life. Static water brought death. And so he swam for the currents of change, the flow moving the waters as it moved him forward in purpose...and in battle. The tides would turn, the rains would come, and the waters would wash away the rot, the poison, and the decay. In that, he could trust.

You always wanted the best possible outcome, of course. That was ideal. But to walk away from it clean? Unscathed? Without casualty or loss? Childish. You did the best with what you had, constructed a plan based on what you knew—or didn't know—factored in whatever variables there were to consider, and let it play. Like a game of chess, it all depended on the skill of the participant. And yes, pawns were smackdab caught in the middle. Unfortunate, but that's life. Wars aren't won passing a soccer ball or sipping tea. They're won with objectivity. Which of course, was doing whatever necessary to secure victory for the greater good. It wasn't always frilly or pleasant, but it was real. Fighting was real. Their _lives_ were real. A fairy tale ending of flowers and good versus evil and guy rides off into sunset with pretty girl? Childish.

A man needs something to believe in. Something to serve. He needs a devotion, a dedication to something bigger than himself. He needs a commitment to...something that speaks to the vastness of the cosmos in which he plays such a miniscule role. Sometimes it's a woman, or a family. Sometimes it's a country, a kingdom, or a flag. Other times it's simply a cause, a purpose, the small spark of an idea that drives a man to extremes, to do what he believes in his heart is just. Worst still, is loyalty for loyalty's sake, without really weighing the pros and cons, the "should" or "should nots," without really understanding the purpose or intent behind what and where your loyalty lie. But you get what you give, as the old saying goes. When you give loyalty, you get loyalty...right?

His was a lineage of strength. In his veins, flowed the blood of a warrior. From as far back as could be remembered, his family had fought; whether against the beasts of the field or the blade of the enemy, always they sought to dominate and subdue. And yet always had their name been overshadowed, lessened...diminished. Pushed into the shadows of obscurity, the greatness of his clan went unnoticed, swirling in the cracks of the earth as darkness escapes the light of the moon. ...But no more. He would have his glory. He would reclaim the honor and pride due his kin. Victory would be his...no matter the cost.

All life was an illusion. The very foundations of the world were built on them. "Good" and "bad," "right" or "wrong"—foolish perceptions of men desperate for purpose in a purposeless life. No absolutes, just opinions and perspectives. And perspective was so easily...engineered. To survive was the only real truth—to live on as your enemy fell. Those around him fought for honor, pride, glory, acceptance...fools! None of it mattered. None of it was even real. Why couldn't they see? They were chasing a mirage. They were waving their hands through a substanceless fog. Their ambitions would choke them, like smog filling the lungs. And the harder they ran, the faster they would suffocate. Puppets on strings. Flies caught in a web. Their eyes were closed! They were killed by tricks! The haze drifts through the air and consumes. But he would live on and endure.

They were orders. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. Soldiers obey. They obey their leaders and commanding officers. In a way, they obey themselves as well. They obey the call to fight, that innermost urging to kill and to destroy. To watch the world rot, the earth die. There was a certain...beauty in death. In watching life wither and decay. It was a...euphoric experience for him. Ecstasy in the gasping of breath, excitement at the stilling of limbs, an emotional release in the shriek of pain. As the snake coiled around its prey, so too did he crush and asphyxiate his enemy, striking the wounded rats and sinking venomous fang into the skin. ...Nothing personal, of course. It was an order. He was just following orders.


	19. Sengoku Jidai

Author's Notes: The world of _Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ has always been one rooted in reality. The creators often took or used real life occurrences and cultural influences as a foundation for many of the series' characters and themes. I could go into its use of the Bushido virtues (jin, gi, rei, chi, shin, chuu, kou, tei, nin). I could even comment on Shinjuku, Tokyo, and any of the other dozens of locations mentioned throughout the show as being ACTUAL provinces/cities in Japan. I could even get into the bloody speech/language patterns and formalities of the Troopers and how each reflected the cultural/growing environment of the individual Trooper. But truthfully, one of the lesser known "realities" of YST is that the Troopers are in fact descendants of popular war-figures during the Sengoku Jidai. Which, for those who've read/watched InuYasha know this is a waring, feudal era of Japan (and while stories of yōkai were popular, they did NOT have half-breed dog demons running back and forth through wells).

The Sengoku Jidai is a fascinating period of Japan's history (if you're willing to do the research), as well as bloody, violent, treacherous, and cruel. There are countless animes and video games that both explore and glorify the "Warring States," my favorite being _Onimusha: Warlords_ for the PS2. The game itself is an action-adventure, survival-horroresque story of a character named Samanosuke and his quest to save Princess Yuki of the Saitō clan (who actually existed during the Sengoku Jidai) and defeat the warlord Oda Nobunaga (probably the most infamous historical figure OF the Sengoku Jidai), resurrected from death (he commits seppuku, as it were) after signing a pact with yōkai demons.

Now, my story has nothing to do with demons or saving princesses, but I have taken my research and love of _Onimusha: Warlords_ and combined the concepts into a story that respects both YST, and the time period from which many of the Trooper descendents hailed (Touma is a descendent of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Seiji is a descendent of Date Masamune, and so on). I've taken the main character's name from _Onimusha: Warlords_ and used it as the name for the main character of this fic. The difference being the Samanosuke of my story is a relatively low-ranking samurai (versus the super-samurai badass of the video game) on a mission to warn Lord Nobunaga of the impending betrayal of his general, Akechi Mitsuhide (which if you know anything about the Sengoku Jidai, then you can pretty much figure how this ficlet ends). I used the imagery and BGM of _Onimusha: Warlords_ while writing this piece, and if you are reading this via LiveJournal, you'll find a YouTube vidlink at the bottom of the entry with the song used as my primary inspiration. For those of you at FFNet, type "onimusha warlords soundtrack" in the YouTube search bar and the very first result is the link to a song called "Rising Sun ~ First Movement." Songs "Grace," "Moon," and "Waterfall Mountain" were also used as inspiration for this fic. I strongly recommend listening to the OST; it helps set the mood for the piece.

(Music aside, this story is my attempt at honoring the theme from a historical standpoint. I tried to make it interesting, I promise, but this is really focused more on the "cultural foundation" on which YST was built, which I think is important to understanding YST itself. So, enjoy.)

I'll stop jabbering now. (I don't want my AN winding up longer than the story, LOL.) Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 19:  
Sengoku Jidai**

 _Swift. Silent. Unseen._

Samanosuke moved through the trees, his footsteps light against the bark. He stayed as close to the canopy as he could, as close as the weight of the trees would allow. The higher he was, the less likely he was to be spotted by the enemy. He had greatest visibility in the trees, his eyes searching the distance for Mitsuhide's troops.

Samanosuke was not the strongest of Nobunaga's men. He was not the fastest nor the bravest. He was not the quickest of wit. Truly, he lacked skill with the sword. But he was, above all, loyal. He was a faithful servant to the Lord Nobunaga, dutiful and just. He could not win wars for his great Lord; he could not strategize plans nor rally the samurai. But he would stand nonetheless, proud and obedient to the greatest daimyo of Japan. And he would gladly give his life for the daimyo's cause.

 _Swift. Silent. Unseen._

He recited these words to himself as he ran, quick as his feet could carry him, through the trees and to his Lord's stronghold at Gifu Castle. Rumors had reached him of Mitsuhide's betrayal, the treacherous and ungrateful general of Nobunaga's army. An honorless gout he was, bringing only shame upon himself and his daimyo. When word of Mitsuhide's treachery was heard, it would be his end. He would commit seppuku—either willingly or through force—or he would have no honor. Though Samanosuke believed he was without honor either way. So deep it was Samanosuke's loyalty to his Lord.

It would be dark soon. Moving through the forests was difficult at night, but if Samanosuke's sight was hampered, then so was the sight of his enemies. The cover of night would shelter him.

Samanosuke's pace quickened. He wanted to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall. He would need to watch his steps more carefully in the darkness, and he did not fancy camping in open forest, not with Mitsuhide's followers patrolling the grounds. And he could not be certain he was followed. The only safe haven was within the walls of Gifu Castle. It could not be but a few miles north. If only he could reach it in time...

Samanosuke recalled the attack on Inabayama Castle and his Lord Nobunaga's victory over the cowardly Tatsuoki. Inabayama Castle had long been a symbol of physical prowess and strength, a symbol only amplified by the powerful and imposing Lord Nobunaga's campaign. He had overthrown Tatsouki with ease and claimed the castle for himself. It was not two months after its capture that Nobunaga had announced the renovation of his stronghold, to create a structure far more grandiose than even the then intimidating Inabayama Castle. Thus, the castle and its surrounding townships were renamed "Gifu," while its workers toiled diligently to create the spectacle as seen in Nobunaga's dreams.

Yes, the stronghold was a magnificent sight. With its gleaming white walls and elaborate turrets, the compound inspired both fear and awe in all who befell its presence. Even the inner portion of the compound where the samurai reside was a decorated feat. Samanosuke could almost feel the cool waters of the inner moat splashing against his cheek in the summer sun. He had never been privy to the central keep—only high-ranking officers and those closest to the daimyo were allowed in or near the daimyo's quarters. But it was grand and elegant, he knew. Surely, there were no keep anywhere more suited to the greatness of his Lord.

The orange glow of dusk shone through the trees, casting shadowy patterns against Samanosuke's skin. The leaves bristled in the quiet wind, a stray branch scratching the underside of his jaw as he leapt in and onto another tree. Alarmed at the clumsiness of his speed, Samanosuke eased his steps, remembering the training of his superiors. It would do nothing for Samanosuke to falter now. He must be calm, disciplined. A Samurai was a vessel of control.

 _Swift. Silent. Unseen._

He recited these words once more, his breathing even. He'd slowed his pace, but his movements were steady. In the distance, between the gaps in the trees he caught flashes of white in the direction of Gifu Castle. Samanosuke felt his courage soar and his heart swell...he was nearly there. It would be dark when he arrived, but he would make it back in time to warn Nobunaga. And be rewarded greatly, no doubt. The judgment of his Lord was fair and just.

It was the twilight hour. And yet, it was light enough still that the sun caught the edge of his blade. The reflecting glimmer caught his eye and he stilled, clutching a nearby branch to keep balance. He laughed quietly to himself, reaching down to adjust his sword, only to find the katana resting unmoved in its sheathe.

The light from the blade was not his own.

And suddenly, the white walls of the castle disappeared, swooping to the skies in a blur of color. The trees and branches too, soaring high above him. Soon, only the ground lie before him. There were no turrets, no great army. There was no shimmering pool in the summer sun. The beauty of the forest faded to black.

...He has fallen into shadow.


	20. Wildcard

Author's Notes: Well, here it is. The final entry for the YST 20 Themefic Challenge in celebration of the 20th Anniversary of YST. It's been a long road, to say the least. I wasn't quite sure this would ever see the light of FFNet (considering I began this challenge some, I don't know, YEARS ago), but I persevered and completed the set. I can honestly say that what I've compiled here is easily the BEST of what I've ever written for YST...period. I have splatterings of other YST material, but I think they all pale in comparison to what's presented in these prompts, and I chalk that up to age, experience, and the help of several wonderfully talented writers and YST aficionados over at my personal LiveJournal account, who both edited and helped to correct any canonical inconsistencies along the way. My deepest thanks and appreciation to those folks for their knowledge, encouragement, and support. Again, they know who they are.

This is the final prompt in every sense of the word. It's number twenty yes, but also the very LAST piece I tackled for the challenge. I purposely put this off till the end, for reasons that should be obvious/reveal itself to you as you read. Though it probably didn't seem as such when I was composing these stories—seeing as I wrote them out of order and updated sporadically, at best—each of these promptings fall within the same "timeline" of events. Which is to say, they are all part of the same story universe, but posted out of order, due to the nature of the themefic listings. As such, Prompt 20 can be viewed as the "The End" for the entirety of my YST portfolio. (In the sense that any future fic I write for YST will never exceed the events of this one prompt.) In essence, Prompt 1 and Prompt 20 are "bookends" for the challenge, with the stories in-between a collection of all that it is that defines the series. I am rather proud of this collection.

I do hope you enjoy what I've written. I know those of us who grew up watching "Ronin Warriors"—and later, YST—remember the series fondly. It was a fun part of my younger years, and I imagine most still reading YST/RW fanfiction feel exactly the same. The series is now approaching its 30th Anniversary (OMG!), so it's both ironic and somewhat poetic that I post this completed challenge now. Please feel free to leave comments and questions in your review, should you have any. (I do check, read, and respond to all critiques.) And above all, thank you for sticking it out with me to the end. I can only pray I've done the series—and your memories—justice.

Love, respect, and MANY blessings.

Kimberly 3

Disclaimer: _Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers_ is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

 **YST 20 Prompt 20:  
Wildcard**

"Me next! Me next!"

"Can you believe it? This is so exciting!"

"Dude. This is so a photo-op moment."

"I don't think Nasuti's quite in the mood for 'smiling at the camera.'"

"Me neither." A pause. "She sure picked the coldest _damn_ day of the year to do this."

"God you're an ass, Touma."

"Uh, guys? Let's keep it cool, okay?"

"Seriously. Seiji looked about five seconds from slugging _everybody_."

Just moments before, at Nasuti's insistence, Seiji had frazzledly excused himself from the room. It had been a rather...long night, and Seiji more than anyone looked to be needing a _break_. The circumstances were in fact rather ideal, all things considered. But after hours in a waiting room and months of bubbling anticipation, the bearer of Korin was more than a little "out of sorts."

On the opposite end of the stick was Nasuti who, despite the unflattering hospital garb and a mildly ragged appearance, looked no worse for wear. The birth was, well, not so much easy, but about as routine and "by the book" as you could get for a first-time mother. She'd been admitted to the hospital mid-afternoon the day before, and by the early morning hours of Saturday, December 17th, delivered a healthy, seven and one-half pounds baby girl.

The weeks leading up to the birth had been...busy. Seiji's family had been equal parts "excited" and "stressed," as the child marked the first-born of the newest generation of Dates—and a half-breed to boot. The five-month ultrasound had revealed the baby's sex, but both Seiji and Nasuti had requested the doctors keep the information to themselves. It made preparing the nursery tricky, but Seiji and Nasuti agreed that the mystery of it was half the fun. Nasuti had been indifferent to the gender of the baby; Seiji had rooted unwaveringly for a girl.

The family, of course, had their own ideas.

Seiji's grandfather and mother had had high hopes for a son...which came as no surprise to anyone. Traditional families favored sons, as it meant an heir to pass along inheritance and family names. Though she bore three children, Seiji had been his mother's only son. (The grandfather laid the blame of this entirely on the inadequacy of his son-in-law.) A boy would ensure a continuation of the heritage of the Dates, and an opportunity for the grandfather to influence yet another generation of "Bushido elite."

Seiji's sisters, interestingly enough, shared their mother and grandfather's enthusiasm for a boy. During the pregnancy, Yayoi had confided in Nasuti that she'd "preferred brothers," though assured the expectant mother that she "hadn't loved Satsuki any less." Satsuki, the least severe of her siblings, admitted to wanting a "new brother," as a replacement for Seiji who'd been "in and out of reality" since she was twelve (understandable, given he'd been chosen bearer of the Korin Yoroi). Feeling a bit "left behind" by her older and much more "accomplished" siblings, a new baby was an opportunity for the oddball and mildly ostracized Satsuki. "Yayoi had Seiji," she'd confessed. A baby boy meant she could "have somebody" too.

(Nasuti later relayed this to Seiji in private, who all but burst into tears at the sincerity of his normally high-spirited and unaffected baby sister. Seiji would seek to repair the rift between them almost immediately.)

As was always the case, the father's only concern was the happiness and well-being of the people around him. In particular Nasuti, who he had effortlessly accepted as his "third daughter" and was, in his opinion, a kindred spirit. "The health of the mother and child," he'd insisted, "was what mattered most." It was the sort of "socially acceptable" sentiment that might have seemed borderline ingenuine out of the mouth of anyone else. But Seiji's father spoke with such care and kindness, there could be found in him nothing false. He'd smiled then, assuring Nasuti that either way, things would work out the way they were intended.

And come December 17th, it had "worked out" that Nasuti gave birth to a daughter, pale and beautiful with a head full of wispy yellow hair. It gleamed with a reddish tint in the light, to which Yayoi suggested the child would most likely end up a strawberry-blonde. She was of average weight and size, at just a half over seven pounds, with ten fingers, ten toes, and a sharpness to her eyes, their icy coloring unusual for a newborn babe.

"My God. She's Seiji all over."

There really was no mistaking it was Seiji's child. Her face was all but a mirror of her father's, and even at a few hours old, there were already shades of Seiji's behaviors peeking through. Her demanding cries and indignance at being held by anyone other than her immediate family foreshadowed a very _interesting_ stretch of growing years to come.

But to the Dates' credit, if there was any disappointment over the birth of a girl, they didn't show it. The baby looked to be healthy and strong, and for all intents and purposes, women had greater power and were of higher rank within the family anyway. This simply added one more to their numbers. Perhaps it was Seiji's relief at the safe delivery and later elation at the "perfect princess" he'd not-so-secretly hoped for all along. Maybe it was just the good feeling all around at the sight of new life being ushered into the world. Whatever the reason, the often steel-tempered outfit looked upon their snow-kissed new arrival with joy.

"I'd let you hold her," Nasuti smiled, apology in her voice, "but she's just now settling down." She laid ever-so-gently a manicured nail against the baby's nose. "Besides, the nurse is coming right back."

"She's exquisite," Ryo gushed, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in Nasuti's arms. "Just wait till Byakuen sees her. He'll probably try to adopt her as his own cub."

"There will be _no_ tiger-handling of my child, at any time, for any reason."

The Troopers turned their attention then to their light-wielding friend, Seiji, who loomed darkly in the doorway of the room. He approached his wife and child, placing a hand gingerly on Nasuti's gowned shoulder as she nestled the babe. He looked improved over his previously emotionally overwhelmed state, but not enough that any of the guys were willing to test his nerves.

"Overprotective already," Nasuti sighed.

Shuu placed a hand at either hip and grinned. "I love it. Just give it a couple years. This will make for one hell of a show."

Shin laughed, elbowing his muscled friend before turning to face the young parents. He bowed low in respect.

"Congratulations again. No two people are more deserving."

The entire room nodded in agreement.

"We should say as much to your family," Ryo added, finger against his chin. "Where did they go, anyway?"

Seiji crossed his arms, leaning softly against the guardrails of the bed. "Stepped out for a moment. Father took Yayoi and Satsuki for a bite to eat. Mother left to freshen up. And Grandfather is probably 'informing' the entirety of our extended family of the good news."

"He's a funny old coot," Touma said flatly.

The bearer of Korin stole a second to ponder whether he should rebuke the insult...but cast it aside as a not-entirely-offbase remark.

Shuu leaned forward, eyeballing the mother and babe. "What about a name?"

"We haven't decided."

"It's exciting though, isn't it?"

Shuu pried his eyes from mother and child to look questioningly upon their raven-haired "chief." "What is?"

"New life," Ryo said matter-of-factly. "New paths. New opportunities." He closed his eyes, holding his hands to his chest as if clutching something precious. "Who knows what the child will be? What the child will choose? Life holds so many possibilities. Life can go in so many different directions."

"And it's only the beginning," Touma chimed in, his voice carrying an undertone of uncharacteristic optimism.

"What a good life it will be," Nasuti beamed, voice full of smiles, "with such wonderful uncles to help steer her well." She craned her neck to stare lovingly at her husband. "And a father to chase away the dark."

Reciprocating her gaze, Seiji chanced a glance at their daughter, staring up at him with clear and unpredictable eyes.

"No worries, love. She will chase it away herself one day. With an armor and brightness all her own."

And for all the fighting and pain, for all the trials and testings they had endured, not one would have traded a single second of any of it. Their little group huddled together, five young men, a woman—a tiger and boy elsewhere yet no less present in heart—welcoming the fruits of their hard-earned battle into the world.

Nasuti cried a little, hormones dancing. The guys exchanged looks, misty-eyed all around.

A good life it was, indeed. And a good life it would continue to be.

 _The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. - John 1:5 (NIV)_


End file.
